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THE DAWN 
AND THE DAY 



OR 

THE BUDDHA 
AND THE CHRIST 



PART I 



HENRY tI^ILES 



SEP 28 1B94 



1894 



^^-^^ -^^ ^-^^,.K^^ 







Copyrig-ht, 1894, 
Bv Henry T. Niles. 
All rig-hts reserved. 



THE BLADE PRINTING & PAPER COMPA 
TOLEDO, OHIO 



PREFACE. 



When Humboldt first ascended the Andes and 
saw the trees, shrubs and flora he had long: before 
studied on the Alps, he had only to look at his ba- 
rometer, or at the sea of mountains and hills below, 
the rocks and soil around, and the sun above, to un- 
derstand this seeming- marvel of creation ; while 
those who knew less of the laws of order and uni- 
versal harmony mig-ht be lost in conjectures about 
pollen floating: in the upper air, or seeds carried by 
birds across seas, forgetting- that preservation is 
perpetual creation, and that it takes no more power 
to clothe a mountain just risen from the sea in ap- 
propriate verdure than to renew the beauty and the 
bloom of spring. ^ 

Max Mueller, who looks through antiquity with 
the same clear vision with which Humboldt ex- 
amined the physical world, when he found the most 
ancient Hindoos bowing in worship before Dyaus 
^itar, the exact equivalent of the Zeus Pater of the 
ireeksand the Jupiter of the Romans, and of "Our 
Father who art in the heavens" in our own divinely 
tauo-ht prayer, instead of indulging in wild specu- 
lations about the chance belief of some ancient 



viii Preface. 

chief or patriarch, transmitted across continents 
and seas and even across the g-reat g-ulf that has 
always divided the Aryan from the Semitic civiliza- 
tion and preserved through ag-es of darkness and 
unbelief, saw in it the common yearning- of the hu- 
man soul to find rest on a loving- Father's almig-hty 
arm ; 3^et when our oriental missionaries and 
scholars found such fundamental truths of their 
own relig-ion as the common brotherhood of man, 
and that love is the vital force of all religion, which 
consists not in blood-oblations or in forms and 
creeds, but in shunning- evil and doing good, and 
that we must overcome evil by good and hatred by 
love, and that there is a spiritual world and life 
after death embodied in the teachings of Buddha — 
instead of finding in this great fact new proof of 
the common Father's love for all His children, they 
immediately began to indulge in conjectures as to 
how these truths might have been derived from the 
early Christians who visited the East, while those 
who were disposed to reject the claims of Christian- 
ity have exhausted research and conjecture to find 
something looking as if Christianity itself might 
have been derived from the Buddhist missionaries 
to Palestine and Egypt, both overlooking the re- 
markable fact that it is only in fundamental truths 
that the two religions agree, while in the dogmas, 
legends, creeds and speculations which form the 
wall of separation between them they are as wide 
asunder as the poles. 

How comes it on the one theory that the Nesto- 



Preface. ix 

rians, whose peculiar creed had already separated 
them from the balance of the Christian church, 
taug-ht their Buddhist disciples no part of that creed 
to which they have adhered with such tenacity 
through the ages ? And on the other theory, how 
comes it, if the Divine Master was, as some modern 
writers claim, an Kssene, that is, a Buddhist monk, 
that there is not in all his teachings a trace of the 
speculations and legends which had already buried 
the fundamental truths of Buddhism almost out of 
sight ? 

How sad to bear a distinguished Christian scholar 
like Sir Monier Williams cautioning his readers 
against giving a Christian meaning to the Chris- 
tian expressions he constantly met with in Bud- 
dhism, and yet informing them that a learned and 
distinguished Japanese gentleman told him it was 
a source of great delight to him to find so many 
of his most cherished religious beliefs in the 
New Testament ; and to see an earnest Christian 
missionary like good Father Hue, when in the busy 
city of Lha-ssa, on the approach of evening, at the 
sound of a bell the whole population sunk on their 
knees in a concert of prayer, only finding in it an 
attempt of Satan to counterfeit Christian worship ; 
and on the other hand to see ancient and modern 
learning ransacked to prove that the brightest and 
clearest light that ever burst upon a sinful and be- 
nighted world was but the reflected rays of another 
faith. 



X Preface. 

And yet this same Sir Monier Williams says : 
" We shall not be far wrong- in attempting- an out- 
line of the Buddha's life if we beg-in by assuming- 
that intense individuality, fervid earnestness and 
severe simplicity, combined with sing-ular beauty 
of countenance, calm dig-nity of bearing-, and al- 
most superhuman persuasiveness of speech, were 
conspicuous in the g-reat teacher." To believe that 
such a character was the product of a false relig-ion, 
or that he was given over to believe a lie, savors 
too much of that worst ag-nosticism which would 
in effect deny the universality of God's love and 
would limit His care to some favored locality or ag-e 
or race. 

How much more in harmony with the broad phi- 
losophy of such men as Humboldt and Mueller, and 
with the character of a loving- Father, to believe 
that at all times and in all countries He has been 
watching- over all His children and g-iving- them all 
the light they were capable of receiving-. 

This narrow view is especially out of place in 
treating of Buddhism and Christianity, as Buddha 
himself predicted that his Dharma would last but 
five hundred years, when he would be succeeded by 
Matreya, that is, Love incarnate, on which account 
the whole Buddhist world was on tiptoe of expecta- 
tion at the time of the coming of our Lord, so that 
the wise men of the East were not only following 
their guiding-star but the prediction of their own 
great prophet in seeking Bethlehem. 



Preface. ^^ 



Had the Christian missionaries to the East left 
behind them their creeds, which have only served 
to divide Christians into hostile sects and some- 
times into hostile camps, and which so far as I can 
see after years of patient study, have no necessary 
connection' with thesimple. Hvin^ truths taught by 
our Saviour, and had taken only their New TesU- 
ments and their earnest desire to <^'> S^^'^^J^'J^ 
tory of missions would have been widely different 
How of the earth earthy seemed the walls that 
divided the delegates to the world's great Co«gress 
of Religions, recently held in Chicago, and how 
altogether divine 

The love which like an endless golden chain 
Joined all in one. 

Whatever others may think, it is my firm belief 
that Buddhism and Christianity, which we can- 
not doubt have influenced for good such vast masses 
Z human family, both descended from heaven 
clothed in robes of celestial purity ^^^^^^^"'Jf; 
come sadly stained by their contact ->;t1^ ^he e fish- 
nessof a sinful world, except for which belief the 
following pages would never have been written, 
IS are now sent forth in the hope that they may 
lo something to enable Buddhists and Christian 
to see eye to eye and something to promote peace 
and good-will among men. 

While following my own conceptions and even 
fancies in many things, I believe the leading char- 



xii Preface. 

acters and incidents to be historical, and I have 
given nothing- as the teaching* of the great mas- 
ter which was not to my mind clearly authenticated. 

To those who have read so much about agnostic 
Buddhism, and about Nirvana meaning annihila- 
tion, it may seem bold in me to present Buddha as 
an undoubting believer in the fundamental truths 
of all religion, and as not only a believer in a spirit- 
ual world but an actual visitor to its sad and bliss- 
ful scenes ; but the only agnosticism I have been 
able to trace to Buddha was a want of faith in the 
many ways invented through the ag-es to escape the 
consequences of sin and to avoid the necessity of 
personal purification, and the only annihilation he 
taught and yearned for was the annihilation of self 
in the highest Christian sense, and escape from 
that body of death from which the Apostle Paul 
so earnestly sought deliverance. 

Doubtless agnosticism and almost every form of 
belief and unbelief subsequently sprang up among- 
the intensely acute and speculative peoples of the 
East known under the g-eneral name of Buddhists, 
as they did among the less acute and speculative 
peoples of the West known as Christians ; but the 
one is no more primitive Buddhism than the other 
is primitive Christianity. 

While there are innumerable poetic legends — of 
which Spence Hardy's "Manual of Buddhism" is 
a great storehouse, and many of which are given 
by Arnold in his beautiful poem — strewn thick along 



Preface. xiii 

the track of Buddhist literature, constantl}' tempt- 
ing- one to leave the straig-ht path of the develop- 
ment of a great religion, I have carefulh^ avoided 
what did not commend itself to my mind as either 
historical or spiritual truth. 

It was my original design to follow the wonder- 
ful career of Buddha until his long" life closed with 
visions of the golden city much as described in Reve- 
lation, and then to follow that most wonderful 
career of Buddhist missions, not only through In- 
dia and Ceylon, but to Palestine, Greece and Kgypt, 
and over the table-lands of Asia and through the 
Chinese Empire to Japan, and thence by the black 
stream to Mexico and Central America, and then to 
follow the wise men of the East until the Lig"ht of 
the world dawned on them on the plains of Bethle- 
hem — a task but half accomplished, which I shall 
yet complete if life and strength are spared. 

A valued literary friend suggests that the social 
life described in the following- pages is too much 
like ours, but why should their daily life and social 
customs be greatly different from ours ? The 
Aryan mig-rations to India and to Europe were in 
large masses, of course taking their social customs, 
or as the Romans would say, their household g-ods, 
with them. 

What wonder, then, that the home as Tacitus de- 
scribes it in the "Wilds of Germany" was sub- 
stantialh^ what Mueller finds from the very struc- 
ture of the Sanscrit and European languag-es 



xiv Preface. 

it must have been in Bactria, the common cradle of 
the Aryan race. There can scarcely be a doubt 
that twenty-five hundred years ago the daily life 
and social customs in the north of India, which had 
been under undisputed Aryan control long- enough 
for the Sanscrit language to spring up, come to 
perfection and finally become obsolete, were more 
like ours than like those of modern India after the 
many — and especially the Mohammedan — con- 
quests and after centuries of oppression and alien 
rule. 

If a thousand English-speaking Aryans should 
now be placed on some distant island, how much 
would their social customs and even amusements 
differ from ours in a hundred years ? Only so far 
as changed climate and surroundings compelled. 

I give as an introduction an outline of the golden, 
silver, brazen and iron ages, as described by the 
ancient poets and believed in by all antiquity, as it 
was in the very depths of the darkness of the iron 
age that our great light appeared in Northern In- 
dia. The very denseness of the darkness of the age 
in which he came makes the clearness of the light 
more wonderful, and accounts for the joy with 
which it was received and the rapidity with which 
it spread. 

Not to enter into the niceties of chronological 
questions, the mission of Buddha may be roughly 
said to have commenced about five hundred years 
before the commencement of our era, and with in- 



Preface. xv 

cessant labors and long- and repeated journeys to 
have lasted forty-five years, when at about the ag-e 
of eighty he died, or, as the Buddhists more truth- 
fully and more beautifully say, entered Nirvana. 

Henry T. Nii^bs. 
Toledo, January 1, 1894. 



Since this work was in the hands of the printer 
I have read the recent work of Bishop Copelston, 
of Columbo, Ceylon, and it was a source of no 
small g-ratification to find him in all material 
points agreeing- with the result of my somewhat 
extensive investigations as given within, for in 
Ceylon, if anywhere, we would expect accuracy. 
Here the great Buddhist development first comes in 
contact with authentic history during the third cen- 
tury B. C. in the reign of the great Asoka, the dis- 
covery of whose rock inscriptions shed such a flood 
of light on primitive Buddhism, while it still re- 
tained enough of its primitive power, as we learn 
from those inscriptions themselves, to turn that 
monarch from a course of cruel tyranny, and, as 
we learn from the history of Ceylon, to induce his 
son and daughter to abandon royalty and become 
the first missionaries to that beautiful island. 

H. T. N. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The golden age - when men were brothers all. 
The golden rule their law and God their king ; 
When no tierce beasts did through the forests roam, 
Nor poisonous reptiles crawl upon the ground; 
When trees bore only wholesome, luscious fruits, 
And thornless roses breathed their sweet perfumes; 
When sickness, sin and sorrow were unknown. 
And tears but spoke of joy too deep for words ; 
When painless death but led to higher life, 
A life that knows no end, in that bright world 
Whence angels on the ladder Jacob saw, 
Descending, talk with man as friend to friend — 
That age of purity and peace had passed. 
But left a living memory behind, 
Cherished and handed down from sire to son 
Through all the scattered peoples of the earth, 
A living prophecy of what this world, 
This sad and sinful world, might yet become. 



2 Introduction. 

The silver age — an age of faith, not sight — 
Came next, when reason ruled instead of love ; 
When men as through a glass but darkly saw 
What to their fathers clearly stood revealed 
In God's own light of love-illumined truth, 
Of which the sun that rising paints the east. 
And whose last rays with glory gild the west, 
Is but an outbirth. Then were temples reared. 
And priests 'mid clouds of incense sang His praise 
Who out of densest darkness called the light, 
And from His own unbounded fullness made 
The heavens and earth and all that in them is. 
Then landmarks were first set, lest men contend 
For God's free gifts, that all in peace had shared. 
Then laws were made to govern those whose sires 
Were laws unto themselves. Then sickness came, 
And grief and pain attended men from birth to 

death. 
But still a silver light lined every cloud. 
And hope was given to cheer and comfort men. 

The brazen age, brilliant but cold, succeeds. 
This was an age of knowledge, art and war. 
When the knights-errant of the ancient world. 
Adventures seeking, roamed with brazen swords 
Which by a wondrous art — then known, now lost — 
Were hard as flint, and edged to cut a hair 



Introduction. 3 

Or cleave in twain a warrior armor-clad 
And armed with shields adorned by Vulcan's art, 
Wonder of coming times and theme for bards.* 
Then science searched through nature's heights 

and depths. 
Heaven's canopy thick set with stars was mapped, 
The constellations named, and all the laws searched 

out 
That guide their motions, rolling sphere on sphere.f 
Then men by reasonings piled up mountain high 
Thought to scale heaven, and to dethrone heaven's 

king, 
Whose imitators weak, with quips and quirks 
And ridicule would now destroy all sacred things. 
This age great Homer and old Hesiod sang. 
And gods they made of hero, artist, bard. 

At length this twilight of the ages fades, 
And starless night now sinks upon the world — 
An age of iron, cruel, dark and cold. 
On Asia first this outer darkness fell. 
Once seat of paradise, primordial peace. 
Perennial harmon}- and perfect love. 
A despot's will was then a nation's law ; 

* See Hesiod's description of the shield of Hercules, the St Georg-e 
of that ancient age of chivalry. 

t See the celebrated zodiac of Denderah, g-iven in Landseer's 
*' Sabaean Researches," and in Napoleon's " Egypt " 



4 Introduction. 

An idol's car crushed out poor human lives, 

And human blood polluted many shrines. 

Then human speculation made of God 

A shoreless ocean, distant, waveless, vast, 

Of truth that sees not and unfeeling- love, 

Whence souls as drops were taken back to fall. 

Absorbed and lost, when, countless ages passed. 

They should complete their round as souls of men. 

Of beasts, of birds and of all creeping things. 

And, even worse, the cruel iron castes. 

One caste too holy for another's touch. 

Had every human aspiration crushed. 

The common brotherhood of man destroyed, 

And made all men but Pharisees or slaves. 

And worst of all — and what could e'en be worse ? — 

Woman, bone of man's bone, flesh of his flesh. 

The equal partner of a double life. 

Who in the world's best days stood by his side 

To lighten every care, and heighten every joy, 

And in the world's decline still clung to him. 

She only true when all beside were false. 

When all were cruel she alone still kind, 

Light of his hearth and mistress of his home, 

Sole spot where peace and joy could still be found — 

Woman herself cast down, despised was made 

Slave to man's luxury and brutal lust. 



Introduction. 5 

Then war was rapine, havoc, needless blood, 

Infants impaled before their mothers' eyes. 

Women dishonored, mutilated, slain, 

Parents but spared to see their children die. 

Then peace was but a faithless, hollow truce, 

With plots and counter-plots ; the dagg-er's point 

And poisoned cup instead of open war ; 

And life a savag-e, grim conspiracy 

Of mutual murder, treachery and g-reed. 

O dark and cruel age ! O cruel creeds I 

O cruel men ! O crushed and bleeding- hearts. 

That from the very g-round in ang-uish cry : 

*' Is there no lig-ht — no hope — no help — no God?" 



C^t gafon anb i\z gag 



THE BUDDHA AND THE CHRIST. 



BOOK I 



Northward from Gang-es' stream and India's plains 

An ancient city crowned a lofty hill, 

Whose hig-h embattled walls had often rolled 

The surging-, ang-ry tide of battle back. 

Walled on three sides, but on the north a cliff, 

At once the city's quarry and its g-uard, 

Cut out in g-alleries, with vaulted roofs* 

Upborne upon cyclopean columns vast, 

Chiseled with art, their capitals adorned 

With lions, elephants, and bulls, life size. 

Once dedicate to many monstrous g-ods 

♦ Lieutenant-General Brig^s. in his lectures on the aboriginal races 
of India, says the Hindoos themselves refer the excavation of caves 
and temples to the period of the aboriginal kings. 

(7) 



8 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Before the Aryan race as victors came, 
Then prisons, g-ranaries and mag-azines, 
Now only known to bandits and wild beasts. 
This cliflf, extending- at each end, bends north, 
And rises in two mountain-chains that end 
In two vast snow-capped Himalayan peaks, 
Between which runs a g-littering- glacial stream, 
A mig-hty moving mass of crystal ice, 
Crushing the rocks in its resistless course ; 
From which bursts forth a river that had made 
Of all this valley one great highland lake, 
Which on one side had burst its bounds and cut 
In myriad years a channel through the rock. 
So narrow that a goat might almost leap 
From cliff to cliff — these cliffs so smooth and steep 
The eagles scarce could build upon their sides ; 
This yawning chasm so deep one scarce could hear 
The angry waters roaring far below. 

This stream, guided by art, now fed a lake 
Above the city and behind this cliff, 
Which, guided thence in channels through the rock, 
Fed many fountains, sending crystal streams 
Through every street and down the terraced hill, 
And through the plain in little silver streams. 
Spreading the richest verdure far and wide.* 
Here was the seat of King Suddhodana, 
His royal park, walled by eternal liills, 

*The art of irrigation, once practiced on such a mighty scale, now 
seems practically a lost art but just now being revived on our western 
plains. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 9 

Where trees and shrubs and flowers all native g-rew ; 
For in its bounds all the four seasons met, 
From ever-laughing-, ever-blooming- spring- 
To savage winter with eternal snows. 
Here statel)^ palms, the banyan's many trunks, 
Darkening- whole acres with its g-rateful shade, 
And bamboo groves, with g-raceful waving- plumes. 
The champak, with its fragrant g-olden flowers, 
Asokas, one brig-ht blaze of brilliant bloom. 
The mohra, yielding- food and oil and wine. 
The sacred sandal and the spreading- oak, 
The mountain-loving- fir and spruce and pine, 
And giant cedars, grandest of them all. 
Planted in ages past, and thinned and pruned 
With that high art that hides all trace of art,* 
Were placed to please the eye and show their form 
In groves, in clumps, in jungles and alone. 

Here all a forest seemed ; there open groves. 
With vine-clad trees, vines hanging from each limb, 
A pendant chain of bloom, with shaded drives 
And walks, with rustic seats, cool grots and dells. 
With fountains playing and with babbling brooks. 
And stately swans sailing on little lakes. 
While peacocks, rainbow-tinted shrikes, pheasants, 
Glittering like precious stones, parrots, and birds 
Of all rich plumage, fly from tree to tree. 
The whole scene vocal with sweet varied song ; 



" And, that which all faire workes doth most aygrace, 
The art, which all that wroug-ht, appeared ia no place." 

—Faerie Queene, B. 2, Canlo 12. 



10 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And here a widespread lawn bedecked with flowers. 

With clumps of brilliant roses g-rown to trees. 

And fields with dahlias spread,* not stiff and prim 

Like the starched ruffle of an ancient dame, 

But g-rowing in luxuriance rich and wild, 

The colors of the evening- and the rainbow joined, 

White, scarlet, yellow, crimson, deep maroon, 

Blending" all colors in one dazzling- blaze ; 

There orchards bend beneath their luscious loads; 

Here vineyards climb the hills thickset with grrapes; 

There rolling pastures spread, where vojslI mares. 

High bred, and colts too young- for bit or spur. 

Now quiet feed, then, as at trumpet's call. 

With lion bounds, tails floating, necks outstretched, f 

Nostrils distended, fleet as the flying- wind 

They skim the plain, and sweep in circles wide — 

Nature's Olympic, copied, ne'er excelled. 

Here, deer with dappled fawn bound o'er the grass, t 

And sacred herds, and sheep with skipping lambs ; 

There, great white elephants in quiet nooks ; 

While high on cliffs framed in with living green 

Goats climb and seem to hang and feed in air — 

Sweet spot, with all to please and nothing to offend. 



* See Miss Gordon Cummingr's descriptions of the fields of wild 
dahlias in Northern India. 

t By far the finest display of the mettle and blood of high-bred horses 
I have ever seen has been in the pasture-field, and this description is 
drawn from life 

t Once, coming upon a little prairie in the midst of a great forest, I 
saw a herd of startled deer bound over the grass, a scene never to be 
forg-otten. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 11 

Here on a hill the royal palace stood, 
A g-em of art ; and near, another hill. 
Its top crowned by an ag"ed banyan tree, 
Its sides clad in strang-e jyotismati grass,* 
By day a sober brown, but in the night 
Glowing- as if the hill were all aflame — 
Twin wonders to the dwellers in the plain. 
Their guides and landmarks day and night, 
This glittering palace and this glowing hill. 
Within, above the palace rose a tower. 
Which memory knew but as the ancient tower, 
Foursquare and high, an altar and a shrine 
On its broad top, where burned perpetual fire, 
Emblem of boundless and eternal love 
And truth that knows no night, no cloud, no change. 
Long since gone out, with that most ancient faith 
In one great Father, source of life and light. t 
Still round this ancient tower, strange hopes and 

fears. 
And memories handed down from sire to son. 
Were clustered thick. An army, old men say, 
Once camped against the city, when strange lights 
Burst from this tower, blinding their dazzled eyes. 
They fled amazed, nor dared to look behind. 
The people bloody war and cruel bondage saw 
On every side, and they at peace and free. 
And thought a power to save dwelt in that tower. 



=^See Miss Gordon Cumming-'s description of a hill covered with thi» 
luminous grass. 

t There can be no doubt that the fire-worship of the East is the re- 
mains of a true but largely emblematic religion. 



12 The DaWn and the Day, or 

And now strange prophecies and saying-s old 
Were everywhere rehearsed, that from this hill 
Should come a king- or savior of the world. 
Even the poor dwellers in the distant plain 
Looked up ; they too had heard that hence should 

come 
One quick to hear the poor and strong- to save. 
And who shall dare to chide their simple faith ? 
This humble reverence for the g-reat unknown 
Bring-s men near God, and opens unseen worlds, 
Whence comes all life, and where all power doth 

dwell. 

Morning- and evening- on this tower the king-, 
Before the rising- and the setting- sun, 
Blindly, but in his father's faith, bowed down. 
Then he would rise and on his king-dom gaze. 
East, west, hills beyond hills stretched far away, 
Wooded, terraced, or bleak and bald and bare. 
Till in dim distance all were leveled lost. 
One rich and varied carpet spread far south. 
Of fields, of g-roves, of bus}- cities wrought. 
With mighty rivers seeming silver threads ; 
And to the north the Himalayan chain. 
Peak beyond peak, a wall of crest and crag. 
Ice bound, snow capped, backed by intensest blue, 
Untrod, immense, that, like a crystal wall. 
In myriad varied tints the glorious light 
Of rising and of setting sun reflects ; 
His noble city lying at his feet. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 13 

And his broad park, ting-ed by the sun's slant rays 
A thousand softly rich and varied shades. 

Still on this scene of g-randeur, plenty, peace 
And ever-varying- beauty, he would gaze 
With sadness. He had heard these prophecies, 
And felt the unrest in that g-reat world within, 
Hid from our blinded eyes, yet ever near, 
The very soul and life of this dead world. 
Which seers and prophets open-eyed have seen. 
On which the dying often raptured gaze, 
And where they live when they are mourned as dead. 
This world was now astir, foretelling day. 
" A king shall come, they say, to rule the world. 
If he will rule ; but whence this mig-hty king- ? 
My years decline apace, and yet no son 
Of mine to rule or lig-ht my funeral pile." 

One nig-ht Queen Maya, sleeping- by her lord. 
Dreamed a strange dream; she dreamed she saw a star 
Gliding from heaven and resting over her; 
She dreamed she heard strange music, soft and sweet. 
So distant "joy and peace" was all she heard. 
In joy and peace she wakes, and waits to know 
What this strang-e dream might mean, and whence 
it came. 

Drums, shells and trumpets sound for joy, not 
war; 
The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes. 
And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree. 



14 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And myriad flag's flutter in every breeze, 

And children crowned with flowers dance in the 

streets, 
And all keep universal holiday 
With shows and games, and laug-h and dance and 

song-, 
For to the g-entle queen a son is born. 
To King- Suddhodana the g-ood an heir. 

But scarcely had these myriad lamps g-one out, 
The sounds of revelry had scarcely died. 
When coming- from the palace in hot haste, 
One cried, "Maya, the g-entle queen, is dead." 
Then mirth was changed to sadness, joy to grief, 
For all had learned to love the gentle queen — 
But at Siddartha's birth this was foretold. 

Among the strangers bringing gifts from far. 
There came an ancient sage — whence, no one knew — 
Age-bowed, head like the snow, eyes filmed and 

white. 
So deaf the thunder scarcely startled him. 
Who met them, as they said, three journeys back, 
And all his talk was. of a new-born king. 
Just born, to rule the world if he would rule. 
He was so gentle, seemed so wondrous wise, 
They followed him, he following, he said, 
A light they could not see ; and when encamped. 
Morn, noon and night devoutly would he pray. 
And then would talk for hours, as friend to friend, 
With questionings about this new-born king, 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book I. 15 

Gazing intently at the tent's blank wall, 
With nods and smiles, as if he saw and heard, 
While they sit lost in wonder, as one sits 
Who never saw a telephone, but hears 
Unanswered questions, laughter at unheard jests, 
And sees one bid a little box g-ood-by. 
And when they came before the king, they saw. 
Laughing and cooing on its mother's knee. 
Picture of innocence, a sweet young child ; 
He saw a mighty prophet, and bowed down 
Kight times in reverence to the very ground. 
And rising said, " Thrice happy house, all hail ! 
This child would rule the world, if he would rule. 
But he, too good to rule, is born to save; 
But Maya's work is done, the devas wait." 
But when they sought for him, the sage was gone, 
Whence come or whither gone none ever knew. 
Then gentle Maya understood her dream. 
The music nearer, clearer sounds ; she sleeps. 
But when the funeral pile was raised for her, 
Of aloe, sandal, and all fragrant woods. 
And decked with flowers and rich with rare per- 
fumes. 
And when the queen was gently laid thereon, 
As in sweet sleep, and the pile set aflame, 
The king cried out in anguish ; when the sage 
Again appeared, and gently said, " Weep not I 
Se'^ek not, O king, the living with the dead ! 
'Tis but her cast-off garment, not herself, 
That now dissolves in air. Thy loved one lives, 



16 The Dawn and the I)ay. or 

Become thy deva,* who was erst thy queen.'* 
This said, he vanished, and was no more seen. 

Now other hands take up that mother's task. 
Another breast nurses that sweet young" child 
With g-rowing- love ; for who can nurse a child. 
Feel its warm breath, and little dimpled hands. 
Kiss its soft lips, look in its laug-liing- eyes. 
Hear its low-cooing- love-notes soft and sweet, 
And not feel something" of that miracle, 
A mother's love — so old yet ever new, 
Strong-er than death, bravest among- the brave, 
Gentle as brave, watchful both nig"ht and day. 
That never chang"es, never tires nor sleeps. 
Whence comes this wondrous and undying- love ? 
Whence can it come, unless it comes from heaven, 
Whose life is love — eternal, perfect love ! 

From babe to boy, from boy to youth he grew. 
But more in grace and knowledg"e than in years. 
At play his joyous laug"h rang" loud and clear. 
His foot was fleetest in all boyish g-ames. 
And strong- his arm, and steady nerve and eye. 
To whirl the quoit and send the arrow home; 
Yet seeming- oft to strive, he'd check his speed 
And miss his mark to let a comrade win. 
In fullness of young- life he climbed the cliffs 
Where human foot had never trod before. 
He led the chase, but when soft-eyed g-azelles 

* The difference between the Buddhist idea of a deva and the 
Christian idea of an attendant ang-el is scarcely perceptible. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book I. 17 

Or bounding- deer, or any harmless thing, 

Came in the rang-e of his unerring- dart, 

He let them pass ; for why, thoug-ht he, should men 

In wantonness make war on innocence ? 

One day the Prince Siddartha saw the g-rooms 
Gathered about a stallion, snowy white, 
Descended from that great Nisaean stock 
His fathers brought from Iran's distant plain, 
Named Kantaka. Some held him fast with chains 
Till one could mount. He, like a lion snared. 
Frantic with rage and fear, did fiercely bound. 
They cut his tender mouth with bloody bit. 
Beating his foaming sides until the Prince, 
Sterner than was his wont, bade them desist. 
While he spoke soothingly, patted his head 
And stroked his neck, and dropped those galling 

chains. 
When Kantaka's fierce flaming eyes grew mild, 
He quiet stood, by gentleness subdued- 
Such mighty power hath gentleness and love— 
And from that day no horse so strong and fleet, 
So kind and true, easy to check and guide. 
As Kantaka, Siddartha's noble steed. 

To playmates he was gentle as a girl ; 
Yet should the strong presume upon their strength 
To overbear or wrong those weaker than them- 
selves. 
His sturdy arm and steady eye checked them, 
And he would gently say, "Brother, not so ; 



18 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Our streng-th was or-iven to aid and not oppress. " 

For in an ancient book he found a truth — 

A book no long-er read, a truth forg-ot, 

Entombed in iron castes, and buried deep 

In speculations and in subtle creeds — 

That men, hig-h, low, rich, poor, are brothers all,* 

Which, pondered much m his heart's fruitful soil. 

Had taken root as a g^reat living- truth 

That to a mig-hty doctrine soon would g^row, 

A mig-ht}^ tree to heal the nations with its leaves — 

Like some small grain of wheat, appearing- dead, 

In mummy-case three thousand years ag-of 

Securely wrapped and sunk in Eg'ypt's tombs, 

Themselves buried beneath the desert sands. 

Which now broug-ht forth, and planted in fresh soil, 

And watered by the dews and rains of heaven. 

Shoots up and yields a hundred-fold of g"rain. 

Until in g-olden harvests now it waves 

On myriad acres, many thousand miles 

From where the sing-le ancient seed had g-rown. 

Thus he grew up with all that heart could wish 
Or power command ; his very life itself, 
So fresh and young, sound body with sound mind, 
The living fountain of perpetual joy. 
Yet he would often sit and sadly think 
Sad thoughts and deep, and far beyond his years ; 

* The Brahmans claim that Buddha's great doctrine of universal 
brotherhood was taken from their sacred books and was not an original- 
ity of Buddha, as his followers claim. 

tThe Mediterranean or Egyptian wheat is said to have this origin. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book I. 19 

How sorrow filled the world; how thing's were 

shared — 
One born to waste, another born to want ; 
One for life's cream, others to drain its dreg-s ; 
One born a master, others abject slaves. 
And when he asked his masters to explain, 
When all were brothers, how such thing-s could be, 
They g-ave him speculations, fables old. 
How Brahm first Brahmans made to think for all, 
And then Kshatriyas, warriors from their birth. 
Then Sudras, to draw water and hew wood. 
*' But why should one for others think, when all 
Must answer for themselves? Why brothers- fight? 
And why one born another's slave, when all 
Might serve and help each other?" he would ask. 
But they could only answer : " Never doubt, 
For so the holy Brahmans always taught."^ 
Still he must think, and as he thought he sighed. 
Not for his petty g-riefs that last an hour. 
But for the bitter sorrows of the world 
That crush all men, and last from age to ag-e. 

The good old king saw this—saw that the prince. 
The apple of his eye, dearer than life. 
Stately in form, supple and strong in limb, 
Quick to learn every art of peace and war. 
Displaying and excelling every grace 
And attribute of his most royal line. 
Whom all would follow whereso'er he led. 
So fit to rule the world if he would rule, 
Thought less of ruling than of saving men. 



20 The Dawn and the Day, or 

He saw the g-lory of his ancient house 
Suspended on an if — if he will rule 
The empire of the world, and power to crush 
Those cruel, bloody king's who curse mankind, 
And power to make a universal peace ; 
If not this hig-h career, with g-lory crowned, 
Then seeking truth through folly's devious ways ; 
By self-inflicted torture seeking bliss, 
And by self-murder seeking higher life ; 
On one foot standing till the other pme, 
Arms stretched aloft, fingers g-rown bloodless claws, 
Or else, impaled on spikes, with festering- sores 
Covered from head to foot, the body wastes 
With constant anguish and with slow decay.* 
'' Can this be wisdom ? Can such a life be g-ood 
That shuns all duties lying- in our path — 
Useless to others, filled with grief and pain ? 
Not so my father's g-od teaches to live. 
Rising each morning- most exact in time, 
He bathes the earth and sky with rosy lig-ht 
And fills all nature with new life and joy ; 
The cock's shrill clarion calls us to awake 
And breathe this life and hear the bursts of song- 
That fill each g-rove, inhale the rich perfume 
Of opening- flowers, and work while day shall last. 
Then rising- hig-her, he warms each dank, cold 
spot, 

=•"■ At the time of Buddha's birth there seemed to be no mean between 
the Chakravartin or absolute monarch and the recluse who had re- 
nounced all ordinary duties and enjoyments, and was subjecting him- 
self to all deprivations and suffering's. Buddha taught the middle 
course of diligence in daily duties and universal love. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 21 

Dispels the sickening- vapors, clothes the fields 
With waving- grain, the trees with g-olden fruit, 
The vines with grapes ; and when 'tis time for rest, 
Sinks in the west, and with new g-lory g-ilds 
The mountain-tops, the clouds and western sky, 
And calls all nature to refreshing- sleep. 
If he be God, the useful are like God ; 
If not, God made the sun, who made all men 
And by his g-reat example teaches them 
The dilig-ent are wise, the useful g-ood." 

Sorely perplexed he called his counselors. 

Grown g-ray in serving- their beloved king-. 

And said : " Friends of my youth, manhood and 

age. 
So wise in counsel and so brave in war. 
Who never failed in danger or distress. 
Oppressed with fear, I come to you for aid. 
You know the prophecies, that from my house 
Shall come a king, or savior of the world. 
You saw strange signs precede Siddartha's birth, 
And saw the ancient sage whom no one knew 
Fall down before the prince, and hail my house. 
You heard him tell the queen she soon would die, 
And saw her sink in death as in sweet sleep; 
You laid her gently on her funeral pile. 
And heard my cry of anguish, when the sage 
Again appeared and bade me not to weep 
For her as dead who lived and loved me still. 
We saw the prince grow up to man's estate, 
So strong and full of manliness and grace, 



22 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And wise beyond his teachers and his years, 

And thoug-ht in him the prophecies fulfilled, 

And that with g-lory he would rule the world 

And bless all men with universal peace. 

But now dark shadows fall athwart our hopes. 

Often in sleep the prince will start and cry 

As if in pain, ' O world, sad world, I come !' 

But roused, he'll sometimes sit the livelong day, 

Forg-etting- teachers, sports and even food. 

As if with dreadful visions overwhelmed, 

Or buried in g-reat thoug-hts profound and deep. 

But yet to see our people, riding- forth. 

To their acclaims he answers with such g-race 

And g-entle stateliness, my heart would swell 

As I would hear the people to each other say : 

* Who ever saw such g-race and g-randeur joined T 

Yet while he answers g-ladness with like joy. 

His eyes seem searching- for the sick and old, 

The poor, and maimed, and blind — all forms of 

grief. 
And oft he'd say, tears streaming- from his eyes,* 
*Let us return ; my heart can bear no more.' 



* I am aware thai some Buddhist authors whom Arnold has fol- 
lowed in his " Ligrht of Asia" make Buddha but little better than a state 
prisoner, and would have us believe that the g-iimpses he g-ot of the ills 
that flesh is heir to were gained in spite of all precautions, as he was 
occasionally takeu out of his rose embowered, damsel filled prison- 
house, and not as any prince of high intelligence and tender sensibili- 
ties who loved his people and mingled freely with them would gain a 
knowledge of suffering- and sorrow ; but we are justified in passing all 
snch fancies, not only on account of their intrinsic improbability, but 
because the g-reat Asvaghosha, who wrote about the beginning of our 
era, knew nothing of them. 



The Buddha and the Christ — B<iok I. 23 

One day we saw beneath a peepul-tree 

An ag-ed Brahman, wasted with long- fasts, 

Loathsome with self-inflicted g-hastl}^ wounds, 

A rigfid skeleton, standing- erect, 

One hand stretched out, the other stretched aloft, 

His long- white beard g-rown filthy by neg-lect. 

Whereat the prince with shuddering- horror shook. 

And cried, 'O world ! must I be such for thee ?' 

And once he led the chase of a wild boar 

In the g-reat forest near the g-lacier's foot ; 

On Kantaka so fleet he soon outstripped 

The rest, and in the distance disappeared. 

But when at nig-ht they reached the rendezvous, 

Siddartha was not there; and throug-h the nig-ht 

They searched, fearing to find their much loved 

prince 
A mangled corpse under some towering- cliff. 
But searched in vain, and searched ag-ain next day, 
Till in despair they thoug-ht to bring- me word 
The prince was lost, when Kantaka was seen 
Loose-reined and free, and near Siddartha sat 
Under a g-iant cedar's spreading- shade. 
Absorbed in thoug-ht, in contemplation lost. 
Unconscious that a day and nig-ht had passed. 
I cannot reason with such earnestness — 
I dare not chide such deep and tender love. 
But much I fear his reason's overthrow 
Or that he may become like that recluse 
He shuddered at, and not a mig-hty king- 
With power to crush the wrong- and aid the rig-ht. 
How can we turn his mind from such sad thoug-hts 



24 The Dawn and the Day, or 

To life's full joys, the duties of a king-, 
And his great destiny so long- foretold?" 

The oldest and the wisest answered him: 
*' Most noble king-, 3'Our thoug-hts have long- been 

mine. 
Oft have I seen him lost in musing-s sad, 
And overwhelmed with this absorbing- love. 
I know no cure for such corroding thoug-hts 
But thoughts less sad, for such absorbing- love 
But strong-er love." 

" But how awake such thoug-hts ?" 
The king- replied. " How kindle such a love ? 
His loves seem but as phosphorescent flames 
That skim the surface, leaving- him heart-whole — 
All but this deep and all-embracing- love 
That folds within its arms a suffering- world." 

" Yes, noble king-, so roams the antlered deer, 
Adding- each year a branch to his g-reat horns, 
Until the unseen archer la3"s him low. 
So lives our prince; but he ma}' see the day 
Two laughing eyes shall pierce his inmost soul. 
And make his whole frame quiver with new lire. 
The next full moon he reaches man's estate. 
We all remember lift}' years ago 
When 3^ou became a man, the sports and games. 
The contests of fair women and brave men, 
In beaut}', arts and arms, that filled three days 
With joy and gladness, music, dance and song. 
Let us with double splendor now repeat 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book I. 25 

That festival, with prizes that shall draw 

From all your king:dom and the neig-hbor states 

Their fairest women and their bravest men. 

If any chance shall bring- his destined mate, 

You then shall see love dart from eye to eye. 

As darts the lig:htning-'s flash from cloud to cloud." 

And this seemed g-ood, and so was ordered done. 

The king- to all his king-dom couriers sent, 
And to the neig-hbor states, inviting- all 
To a g-reat festival and royal g-ames 
The next full moon, day of Siddartha's birth. 
And offering- varied prizes, rich and rare. 
To all in feats of streng-th and speed and skill. 
And prizes doubly rich and doubly rare 
To all such maidens fair as should compete 
In youth and beauty, whencesoe'er they came, 
The prince to be the judg-e and g-ive the prize. 

Now all was joy and bustle in the streets. 
And jov and stir in palace and in park. 
The prince himself joining the joyful throng-, 
Forg-etting- now the sorrows of the world. 
Devising- and directing- new delig-hts 
Until the park became a fairy scene. 

Behind the palace lay a maidan wide 
For exercise in arms and manly sports, 
Its sides bordered by g-ently rising- hills, 
Where at their ease the city's myriads sat 
Under the shade of hig-h-pruned spreading trees. 



26 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Fanned by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks; 
While north, and next the lake, a stately dome 
Stood out, on slender, graceful columns raised, 
With seats, rank above rank, in order placed, 
The throne above, and near the throne were bowers 
Of slender lattice-work, with trailing vines, 
Thick set with flowers of every varied tint. 
Breathing" perfumes, where beauty's champions 
Might sit, unseen of all 3'et seeing all. 

At length Siddartba's natal day arrives 
With joy to rich and poor, to old and 3^oung — 
Not joy that wealth can bu}^ or power command. 
But real joy, that springs from real love. 
Love to the good old king and noble prince. 

When dawning day tinges with rosy light 
The snow-capped peaks of Himalaya's chain. 
The people are astir. In social groups. 
The old and young, companions, neighbors, friends. 
Baskets well filled, they choose each vantage- 
ground. 
Until each hill a sea of faces shows, 
A sea of sparkling joy and rippling mirth. 

At trumpet-sound all eyes are eager turned 
Up toward the palace gates, now open wide. 
From whence a gay procession issues forth, 
A chorus of musicians coming first, 
And next the prince mounted on Kantaka; 
Then all the high-born youth in rich attire. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 27 

Mounted on prancing- steeds with trappings g-ay ; 

And then the g-ood old king-, in royal state, 

On his hug-e elephant, white as the snow. 

Surrounded by his ag-ed counselors, 

Some on their chargers, some in litters borne. 

Their long- white beards floating- in every breeze; 

And next, competitors for every prize : 

Twelve archers, who could pierce the lofty swans 

Sailing- from feeding-g-rounds by distant seas 

To summer nests by Thibet's marshy lakes, 

Or hit the whirring- pheasant as it flies — 

For in this peaceful reig-n the}- did not make 

Men targ-ets for their art, and armor-joints 

The marks through which to pierce and kill; 

Then wrestlers, boxers, those who hurl the quoit. 

And runners fleet, both lithe and lig-ht of limb; 

And then twelve mig-hty spearmen, who could pierce 

The fleeing- boar or deer or fleet g-azelle; 

Then chariots, three horses yoked to each, 

The charioteers in Persian tunics clad, 

Arms bare, leg-s bare — all were athletes in power. 

In form and g-race each an Apollo seemed; 

Yoked to the first were three Nisa^an steeds,* 



=■= To suppose that the Aryan races when the\- emigrated to India 
or Europe left behind them their most valuable possession, the Nisaean 
horse, is to suppose them lackino- in the qualities of thrift and shrewd- 
ness which have distinaruished their descendants. That the Nisaean 
horse of the tablelands of Asia was the horse of the armored knig-hts 
of the middle ages and substantially the Percheron horse of France, I 
had a curious proof : In Layard's Nineveh is a picture of a Nisaean horse 
found among- the ruins, which would have been taken as a good picture 
of a Percheron stallion I once owned, who stood for the picture here 
drawn of what I regard as his undoubted ancestor. 



28 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Each snowy white, proud stepping", rang-y, tall. 
Chests broad, leg's clean and strong-, necks arched 

and hig-h, 
With foreheads broad, and eyes larg-e, full and mild, 
A race that oft Olympic prizes won, 
And whose descendants far from Iran's plains 
Bore armored knig-hts in battle's deadly shock 
On many bloody European fields; 
Then three of ancient Babylonian stock,* 
Blood bay and g"lossy as rich Tyrian silk — 
Such horses Israel's sacred prophets saw 
Bearing- their conquerors in triumph home, 
A race for agfes kept distinct and pure. 
Fabled from Alexander's charg-er sprung- ; 
Then three from distant desert Tartar steppes. 
Ewe-necked, ill-favored creatures, lank and g-aunt, 
That made the people laug-h as they passed by — 
Who ceased to laug-h when they had run the race — 
Such horses bore the mig-hty Mong-ol hostsf 
That with the cyclone's speed swept o'er the earth ; 
Then three, one g-ray, one bay, one g"lossy black, 
Descended from four horses long- since brought 
By love-sick chief from Araby the blest. 
Seeking- with such rare g-ifts an Indian bride, 
Whose slender, g-raceful forms, compact and lig-ht, 
Combined endurance, beauty, streng-th and speed — 

'■■ Marco Polo speaks of the breed of horses here attempted to be 
described as "excellent, larg-e, strong- and swift, said to be of the race 
of Alexander's Bucephalus." 

t It is said that the Mong-olians in their career of conquest could 
move an army of 500,000 fifty miles a day, a speed out of the question 
with all the facilities of modern warfare. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book I. 29 

A wondrous breed, whose famed descendants bore 

The Moslem hosts that swept from off the earth 

Thy mig-ht}^ power, corrupt, declining- Rome, 

And with each other now alone contend 

In speed, whose sons cast out, abused and starved. 

Alone can save from rag-ing- whirlwind flames* 

That all-devouring- sweep our western plains ; 

Then stately elephants came next in line, 

With measured step and g-ently swaying gait. 

Covered with cloth of g"old richly inwroug-ht. 

Each bearing- in a howdah g-aily decked 

A fair competitor for beauty's prize. 

With merry comrades and some sober friend ; 

The vina, bansuli, sitar and harp 

Filling- the air with sweetest melody, 

While rippling- laug-hter from each howdah rang-. 

And sweetest odors, as from op'ning- flowers. 

Breathed from their rich apparel as they passed.. 

And thus they circle round the maidan wide, 
And as they pass along- the people shout, 
"Long- live the king- ! long- live our noble prince!'^ 
To all which g-lad acclaims the prince responds 
With heartfelt courtesy and royal grace. 

When they had nearly reached the palace g-ate 
On their return, the king- drew to the rig-ht 
With his attendants, while the prince with his 
Drew to the left, reviewing- all the line 



* See Bret Harte's beautiful poem, " Sell Patchin," and also an arti- 
cle on the " Horses of the Plains," in The Century, January, 1889. 



30 The Dawn and the Day. 

That passed ag-aiti down to the judg^es' seat, 

Under the king-'s pavilion near the lake. 

The prince eag^erly watched them as they passed, 

Noting- their brawny limbs and polished arms, 

The pose and skill of every charioteer, 

The parts and varied breed of every horse. 

Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill. 

But when the queens of beauty passed him by, 

He was all smiles and gallantry and grace. 

Until the last, Yasodhara, came near. 

Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd, 

Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed, 

Whose cheek, blending the lil}^ with the rose, 

Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood, 

Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste 

Had made to suit her so they seemed a part 

Of her sweet self ; whose manner, simple, free. 

Not bold or shy, whose features — no one saw 

Her features, for her soul covered her face 

As with a veil of ever-moving life. 

When she came near, and her bright eyes met his, 

He seemed to start ; his g-allantry was g^one. 

And like an awkward boy he sat and gazed; 

And her laugh too was hushed, and she passed on, 

Passed out of sight but never out of mind. 

The king and all his counselors saw this. 

** Good king, our deer is struck," Asita said, 

" If this love cure him not, nothing can cure." 



BOOK II. 



She passed along-, and then the king- and prince 
With their attendants wheeled in line and moved 
Down to the royal stand, each to his place. 

The trumpets sound, and now the g-ames beg"in. 

But see the scornful curl of Culture's lip 

At such low sports ! Dyspeptic preachers hear 

Harang-ue the sleepers on their sinfulness ! 

Hear grave philosophers, so limp and frail 

They scarce can walk God's earth to breathe his air, 

Talk of the waste of time! Short-sig-hted men! 

God made the body just to fit the mind, 

Each part exact, no scrimping- and no waste — 

Neg-lect the body and you cramp the soul. 

First brawny wrestlers, shining- from the bath, 
Wary and watchful, quick with arm and eye, 
After long- play clinch close, arms twined, knees 
locked, 

(31) 



32 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Each nerve and muscle strained, and stand as still 

As if a bronze from Vulcan's fabled shop, 

Or else by power of magic changed to stone 

In that supremest moment, when a breath 

Or feather's weight would tip the balanced scale ; 

And when they fall the shouts from hill to hill 

Sound like the voices of the mighty deep, 

As wave on wave breaks on the rock-bound shore. 

Then boxers, eye to eye and foot to foot, 
One arm at guard, the other raised to strike. 

The hurlers of the quoit next stand in line, 
Measure the distance with experienced eye. 
Adjust the rings, swing them with growing speed, 
Until at length on very tiptoe poised. 
Like Mercury just lighted on the earth, 
With mighty force they whirl them through the 
air. 

And then the spearmen, having for a mark 
A lion rampant, standing as in life. 
So distant that it seemed but half life-size. 
Each vital part marked with a little ring. 
And when the spears were hurled, six trembling 

stood 
Fixed in the beast, piercing each vital part. 
Leaving the victory in even scale. 
For these was set far oif a lesser mark. 
Until at length by chance, not lack of skill, 
The victory so long in doubt was won. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 33 

And then ag-ain the people wildly shout, 

The prince victor and nobly vanquished praised. 

Next runners, lithe and lig-ht, glide round the 
plain, 
Whose flying- feet like Mercur}^'s seemed wing-ed, 
Their chests expanded, and their swing-ing- arms 
Like oars to g-uide and speed their rapid course; 
And as they passed along the people cheered 
Each well-known master of the manly art. 

Then archers, with broad chests and brawny 

arms 
Such as the blacksmith's heavy hammer wields 
With quick, hard blows that make the anvil ring- 
And myriad sparks from the hot iron fly ; 
A g-olden eag"le on a screen their mark, 
So distant that it seemed a sparrow's size — 
" For," said the prince, " let not this joyful day 
Give ang-uish to the smallest living- thing-." 
They strain their bows until their muscles seem 
Like knotted cords, the twelve string-s twang- at 

once, 
And the ground trembles as at the swelling- tones 
Of mighty org-ans or the thunder's roll. 
Two arrows pierce the eagle, while the rest 
All pierce the screen. A second mark was set, 
When lo ! high up in air two lines of swans, 
Having one leader, seek their northern nests, 
Their white plumes shining in the noonday sun, 
Calling each other in soft mellow notes. 



34 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Instant one of the people cries " A mark !" 
Whereat the thousands shout "A mark ! a mark I" 
One of the archers chose the leader, one the last. 
Their arrows fly. The last swan left its mates 
As if sore wounded, while the first came down 
Like a g-reat eag-le swooping" for its prey, 
And fell before the prince, its strong- wing- pierced, 
Its bright plumes darkened by its crimson blood. 
Whereat the people shout, and shout again, 
Until the hills repeat the mig-hty sound. 
The prince gently but sadly raised the bird, 
Stroked tenderly its plumes, calmed its wild fear, 
And g-ave to one to care for and to cure. 

And now the people for the chariot-race 
Grow eag-er, while beneath the royal stand, 
By folding doors hid from the public view, 
The steeds, harnessed and ready, champ their bits 
And paw the ground, impatient for the start. 
The charioteers alert, with one strong hand 
Hold high the reins, the other holds the lash. 
Timour — a name that since has filled the world, 
A Tartar chief, whose sons long after swept 
As with destruction's broom fair India's plains — 
With northern jargon calmed his eager steeds ; 
Azim, from Cashmere's rugged lovely vale. 
His prancing Babylonians firmly held ; 
Channa, from Ganges' broad and sacred stream. 
With bit and word checked his Nisaean three ; 
While Devadatta, cousin to the prince. 
Soothed his impatient Arabs with such terms 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 35 

As fondest mothers to their children use : 
"Atair, my pet ! Mira, my baby, hush ! 
Reg-il, my darling- child, be still ! be still !" 
With necks hig-h arched, nostrils distended wide, 
And eag-er g-aze, they stood as those that saw 
Some distant object in their desert home. 

At leng-th the g-ates open as of themselves, 
When at the trumpet's sound the steeds dash forth 
As by one spirit moved, under tig-ht rein. 
And neck and neck they thunder down the plain, 
While rising- dust-clouds chase the flying- wheels. 
But weig-ht, not lack of nerve or spirit, tells ; 
Azim and Channa urg-e their steeds in vain. 
By Tartar and lig-ht Arab left behind 
As the lig-ht g-alley leaves ttie man-of-war ; 
They sweat and labor ere a mile is gained. 
While their lig-ht rivals pass the royal stand 
Fresh as at first, just warming- to the race. 

And now the real race at leng-th begins, 
A double race, such as the Romans loved. 
Horses so matched in weight and strength and 

speed. 
Drivers so matched in skill that as they pass 
Azim and Channa seemed a single man. 
Timour and Devadatta, side by side. 
Wheel almost touching wheel, dash far ahead. 

Azim and Channa, left so far behind. 
No longer urge a race already lost. 



36 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The Babylonian and Nissean steeds, 

No long-er pressed so far beyond their power, 

With long- and even strides sweep smoothly on^ 

Striking- the earth as with a sing-le blow. 

Their hot breath rising in a single cloud. 

Arab and Tartar with a longer stride 

And lig-hter stroke skim lig-htly o'er the ground. 

Watching- the horses with a master's eye, 

As Devadatta and Timour four times, 

Azim and Channa thrice, swept by the stand. 

The prince saw that another round would test, 

Not overtax, their powers, and g-ave the sig-n, 

When three loud trumpet-blasts to all proclaimed 

That running one more round would end the race. 

These ringing* trumpet-calls that broug-ht defeat 

Or victory so near, startle and rouse. 

The charioteers more ardent urg-e their steeds ; 

The steeds are with hot emulation fired ; 

The social multitude now cease to talk — 

Even ag-e stops short in stories often told; 

Boys, downy-chinned, in rough-and-tumble sports 

Like half-grown bears engag-ed, turn quick and 

look; 
And blooming girls, with merry ring-ing- laug-h. 
Romping- in g-entler g-ames, watching meanwhile 
With sly and sidelong look the roug-her sports, 
Turn eag-erly to see the scene below; 
While mothers for the time forg-et their babes. 
And lovers who had sought out quiet nooks 
To tell the tale that all the past has told 
And coming- times will tell, stand mute and gaze. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 37 

The home-stretch soon is reached, and Channa's 

three 
By word and lash ur^-ed to their topmost speed, 
The foaming^ Babylonians left behind, 
While Devadatta and Timour draw near, 
A whole round g^ained, Timour a leng"th ahead. 
But Devadatta loosens now his reins, 
Chides his fleet pets, with lash swung- hig-h in air 
Wounds their proud spirits, not their tender flesh. 
With lion-bounds they pass the Tartar steeds. 
That with hot rival rag-e and open mouths. 
And flaming- eyes, and fierce and ang-ry cries, 
Dash full at Reg-il's side, but dash in vain. 
Fear adding- speed, the Arabs sweep ahead. 
Meanwhile the prince spring's forward from his seat, 
And all on tiptoe still and eag-er stand. 
So that the rumbling- of the chariot-wheels, 
The tramp of flying- feet and drivers' cries, 
Alone the universal stillness break — 
As when before the bursting- of some fearful storm. 
Birds, beasts and men stand mute with trembling- 
awe, 
While heaven's artillery and roaring- winds 
Are in the awful silence only heard. 
But when the double victory is g-ained. 
Drums, shells and trumpets ming-le with the shouts 
From hill to hill re-echoed and renewed — 
As when, after the morning-'s threatening- bow. 
Dark, lurid, whirling- clouds obscure the day, 
And forked lig-htning-s dart athwart the sky. 
And ang-ry winds roll up the boiling- sea, 



38 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And thunder, rag-ing- winds and warring* waves 
Join in one mig-hty and earth-shaking- roar. 

Thus end the games, and the procession forms. 
The king and elders first, contestants next. 
And last the prince ; each victor laurel-crowned. 
And after each his prize, while all were given 
Some choice memorial of the happy day — 
Cinctures to all athletes to gird the loins 
And falling just below the knee, the belt 
Of stoutest leather, joined with silver clasps, 
The skirt of softest wool or finest silk, 
Adorned with needlework and decked with gems. 
Such as the modest Aryans always wore 
In games intended for the public view, 
Before the Greeks became degenerate, 
And savage Rome compelled those noble men 
Whose only crime was love of liberty, 
By discipline and numbers overwhelmed. 
Bravely defending children, wife and home. 
Naked to fight each other or wild beasts, 
And called this brutal savagery high sport 
For them and for their proud degenerate dames. 
Of whom few were what Caesar's wife should be. 
The athletes' prizes all were rich and rare. 
Some costly emblem of their several arts. 
The archers' prizes all were bows ; the first 
Made from the horns of a great mountain-goat 
That long had ranged the Himalayan heights. 
Till some bold hunter climbed his giddy cliifs 
And brought his unsuspecting victim down. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 39 

His lofty horns the bowsmith root to root 

Had firmly joined, and polished bright, 

And tipped with finest gold, and made a bow 

Worthy of Sinhahamu's* mighty arm. 

The other prizes, bows of lesser strength 

But better suited to their weaker arms. 

A chariot, the charioteers' first prize, f 

Its slender hubs made strong with brazen bands. 

The spokes of whitest ivory polished bright, 

The fellies ebony, with tires of bronze, 

Each axle's end a brazen tiger's head. 

The body woven of slender bamboo shoots 

Intwined with silver wire and decked with gold. 

A mare and colt of the victorious breed 

The second prize, more worth in Timour's eyes 

Than forty chariots, though each were made 

Of ebony or ivory or gold, 

And all the laurel India ever grew. 

The third, a tunic of soft Cashmere wool, 

On which, by skillful needles deftly wrought. 

The race itself as if in life stood forth. 

The fourth, a belt to gird the laggard's loins 

And whip to stimulate his laggard steeds. 



* Sinhahamu was an ancestor, said to be the grandfather, of car 
prince, whose bow, like that of Ulysses, no one else could bend. See 
notes 24 and,2S to Book Second of Arnold's " L<ig-ht of Asia." 

t Any one who has read that remarkable work, "Ben Hur," and 
every one who has not should, will recognize ray oblig-ations to General 
Wallace, 



40 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And thus arrayed they moved once round the 
course, 
Then to the palace, as a fitter place 
For beauty's contest than the open plain ; 
The sing-ers chanting- a triumphal hymn. 
While many instruments, deep toned and shrill, 
And all the multitude, the chorus swell. 

This day his mission ceased to press the prince. 
And he forg-ot the sorrows of the world. 
So deep and earnest seemed the g-eneral joy. 
Even those with grinning- skeletons at home 
In secret closets locked from public view. 
And care and sorrow rankling at their hearts. 
Joined in the g-eneral laugh and swelled the shouts, 
And seemed full happy though they only seemed. 
But through the g-ames, while all was noisy mirth, 
He felt a new, strang-e feeling- at his heart. 
And ever and anon he stole a glance 
At beauty's rose-embowered hiding-place, 
To catch a g-limpse of those two laughing- eyes, 
So penetrating yet so soft and mild. 
And at the royal banquet spread for all 
It chanced Yasodhara sat next the prince — 
An accident by older heads desig-ned — 
And the few words that such constraint allowed 
Were music to his ears and touched his heart; 
And when her eyes met his her rosy blush 
Told what her maiden modesty would hide. 
And at the dance, when her soft hands touched his 
The music seemed to quicken, time to speed; 



The Buddha and the Christ — ^Book II. 41 



^ 



But when she bowed and passed to other hands, 
Winding- the mystic measure of the dance,* 
The music seemed to slacken, time to halt, 
Or drag" his limping" moments lingering" on. 
At leng-th, after the dance, the beauties passed 
Before the prince, and each received her prize. 
So rich and rare that each thought hers the first, 
A treasure to be kept and shown with pride, 
And handed down to children yet unborn. 
But when Yasodhara before him stood. 
The prizes all were g-one ; but from his neck 
He took a g"olden chain thick set with g-ems. 
And clasped it round her slender waist, and said : 
*'Take this, and keep it for the giver's sake." 

And from the prince thev passed before the king-. 
The proud and stately he would greet with grace. 
The timid cheer with kind and gracious words. 
But when Yasodhara bowed low and passed, 
He started, and his color went and came 
As if oppressed with sudden inward pain. 
Asita, oldest of his counselors, 
Sprang" to. his side and asked: "What ails the 

king"?" 
" Nothing", my friend, nothing"," the king replied, 
" But the sharp probing" of an ancient wound. 
You know how my sweet queen was loved of all — 



=•= One may be satisfied with the antiquity of the dance, practically as 
•we have it, from lines 187 8, Book VI, of the Odyssey: 
" Joyful they see applauding- princes graze 
When stately in the dance they swim the harmonious maze." 



42 The Dawn and the Day, or 

But how her life was woven into mine, 

Pilling" my inmost soul, none e'er can know. 

My bitter ang-uish words can never tell. 

As that sweet life was g-ently breathed away. 

Time only streng-thens this enduring" love, 

And she seems nearer me as I g"row old. 

Often in stillest nig-ht's most silent hour, 

AVhen the sly nibbling" of a timid mouse 

In the deep stillness sounds almost as loud 

xVs builders' hammers in the busy day, 

My Maya as in life stands by my side, 

A halo round her head, as she would sa}' : 

' A little while, and you shall have your own.'' 

Often in deepest sleep she seems to steal 

Into that inmost chamber of my soul 

Vacant for her, and nestle to my heart. 

Breathing" a peace my waking" hours know not. 

And when I wake, and turn to clasp my love 

My sinking" heart finds but her vacant place. 

Since that sad day that stole her from my arms 

I've seen a g-eneration of sweet g-irls 

Orow up to womanhood, but none like her ! 

But that brig"ht vision that just flitted by 

Seemed so like her it made me cringe and start. 

O dear Asita, little worth is life, 

With all its tears and parting-s, woes and pains. 

If when its short and fitful fever ends 

There is no after-life, where death and pain, 

And sundered ties, and crushed and bleeding- hearts. 

And sad and last farewells are never known." 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 43 

Such was the old and such the new-born love ; 
The new quick bursting into sudden flame, 
Warming" the soul to active consciousness 
That man alone is but a severed part 
Of one full, rounded, perfect, living whole ; 
The old a steady but undying flame, 
A living longing for the loved and lost ; 
But each a real hunger of the soul 
For what gave paradise its highest bliss, 
And what in this poor fallen world of ours 
Gives glimpses of its high and happy life. 

O love ! how beautiful ! how pure ! how sweet I^ 
Life of the angels that surround God's throne ! 
But when corrupt. Pandora's box itself. 
Whence spring all human ills and woes and crimes, 
The very fire that lights the flames of hell. 

The festival is past. The crowds have gone. 
The diligent to their accustomed round 
Of works and days, works to each day assigned. 
The thoughtless and the thriftless multitude 
To meet their tasks haphazard as they come. 
But all the same old story to repeat 
Of cares and sorrows sweetened by some joys. 

Three days the sweet Yasodhara remained, 
For her long journey taking needful rest. 
But when the rosy dawn next tinged the east 
And lit the mountain-tops and filled the park 
With a great burst of rich and varied song, 



44 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The g-ood old king- bade the sweet girl farewell, 

Imprinting- on her brow a loving kiss, 

While welling up from tender memories 

Big tear-drops trickled down his furrowed cheeks. 

And as her train, escorted by the prince 

And noble youth, wound slowly down the hill. 

The rising sun with glory gilds the city 

That like a diadem circled its brow, 

While giant shadows stretch across the plain ; 

And when they reach the plain they halt for rest 

Deep in a garden's cooling shade, where flowers 

That fill the air with grateful fragrance hang 

By ripening fruits, and where all seems at rest 

Save two young hearts and tiny tireless birds 

That dart from flower to flower to suck their sweets, 

And even the brook that babbled down the hill 

Now murmurs dreamily as if asleep. 

Sweet spot! sweet hour I how quick its moments fly! 

How soon the cooling winds and sinking sun 

And bustling stir of preparation tells 

'Tis time for her to go ; and when they part. 

The gentle pressure of the hand, one kiss — 

A kiss not given yet not resisted — tells 

A tale of love that words are poor to tell. 

And when she goes how lonely seems her way 

Through groves, through fields, through busy 

haunts of men; 
And as he climbs the hill and often stops 
To watch her lessening train until at length 
Her elephant seems but a moving speck. 
Proud Kantaka, pawing and neighing, asks 



The Buddha and the C'hrist— Book II. 



45' 



As plain as men could ever ask in words : 
-What makes my master choose this laggard 
pace?" 

At length she climbs those rocky, rugged hills 
That guarded well the loveliest spot on earth 
Until the Moguls centuries after came, 
Like swarms of locusts swept before the wind, 
Or ravening wolves, to conquer fair Cashmere.* 
And when she reached the top, before her lay. 
As on a map spread out, her native land, 
By lofty mountains walled on every side. 
From winds, from wars, and from the world shut 

out ; 
The same great snow-capped mountains north and 

east 
In silent, glittering, awful grandeur stand, 
And west the same bold, rugged, cliff-crowned hills- 
That filled her eyes with wonder when a child. 
Below the snoNV a belt of deepest green ; 
Below this belt of green great rolling hills, 
Checkered with orchards, vineyards, pastures, 

fields. 
The vale beneath peaceful as sleeping babe, 
The city nestling round the shining lake, 
And near the park and palace, her sweet home. 

* I am aware I place Kapilavastu nearer the Vale of Cashmere than 
naost. bufas two such writers as Beal and Rhys Davids differ 30 yo, an as- 
rS miles in its location, and as no remains have yet been identified 
Z all Corresponding to the grandeur of the ancient city as described by 
: 1 Budd"tst'writefs,I felt free to indulge my fancy. Perhaps these- 
riins may yet be found by some chance traveler in some unexplored 
jungle. 



46 The Dawn and the Day, or 

O noble, peaceful, beautiful Cashmere ! 
Well named the garden of eternal spring- ! 
But yet, with home and all its joys so near. 
She often turned and strained her eag-er eyes 
To catch one parting- glimpse of that sweet spot 
Where more than half of her 3^oung heart was left. 

At leng-th their horns, whose mocking- echoes 
Rolled from hill to hill, were answered from below, 
While from the park a gay procession comes. 
Increasing- as it moves, to welcome her, 
Light of the palace, the people's idol, home. 

The prince's thoughts by day and dreams by 
night 
Meanwhile were filled with sweet Yasodhara, 
And this bright vision ever hovering near 
Hid from his eyes those grim and ghastly forms, 
Night-loving and light-shunning brood of sin, 
That ever haunt poor fallen human lives. 
And from the darkened corners of the soul 
Are quick to sting each pleasure with sharp pain, 
To pour some bitter in life's sweetest cup. 
And shadow with despair its brightest hopes — 
Made him forget how sorrow fills the world, 
How strength is used to crush and not to raise. 
How creeds are bandages to blind men's eyes. 
Lest they should see and walk in duty's path 
That leads to peace on earth and joy in heaven, 
And even made him for the time forget 
His noble mission to restore and save. 



The Buddha and the Cheist — Book II. 47 

He sought her for his bride, but waited long-, 
For princes cannot wed like common folk — 
Friends called, a feast prepared, some bridal gifts, 
Some tears at parting and some solemn vows, 
Rice scattered, slippers thrown with noisy mirth. 
And common folk are joined till death shall part. 
Till death shall part ! O faithless, cruel thought ! 
Death ne'er shall part souls joined by holy love. 
Who through life's trials, joys and cares 
Have to each other clung, faithful till death, 
Tender and true in sickness and in health. 
Bearing each other's burdens, sharing griefs, 
Lightening each care and heightening every joy. 
Such life is but a transient honeymoon, 
A feeble foretaste of eternal joys. 
But princes when they love, though all approve. 
Must wait on councils, embassies and forms. 
But how the coach of state lumbers and lags 
With messages of love whose own light wings 
Glide through all bars, outstrip all fleetest things — 
No bird so light, no thought so fleet as they. 

But while the prince chafed at the long delay, 
The sweet Yasodhara began to feel 
The bitter pangs of unrequited love. 
But her young hands, busy with others' wants. 
And her young heart, busy with others' woes, 
With acts of kindness filled the lagging hours, 
Best of all medicines for aching hearts. 
Yet often she would seek a quiet nook 
Deep in the park, where giant trees cross arms, 



48 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Making- hig-h g-othic arches, and a shade 

That noonday's fiercest rays could scarcely pierce. 

And there alone with her sad heart communed : 

"Yes ! I have kept it for the g-iver's sake, 

But he has quite forg-ot his love, his g"ift, and me. 

How brig"ht these jewels seemed warmed by his love. 

But now how dull, how icy and how dead !" 

But soon the soft-eyed antelopes and fawns 

And fleet g-azelles came near and licked her hands ; 

And birds of every rich and varied plume 

Gathered around and filled the air with song ; 

And even timid pheasants broug-ht their broods, 

For her sweet loving" life had here restored 

The peace and harmony of paradise ; 

And as they shared her bounty she was soothed 

By their mute confidence and perfect trust. 

But thoug-h time seems to lag", yet still it moves. 
Resistless as the ocean's swelling- tide, 
Bearing- its mighty freig-ht of human lives 
With all their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
Onward, forever onward, to life's g-oal. 
At length the embassy is sent, and now, 
Just as the last faint rays of rosy lig-ht 
Fade from the topmost Himalayan peaks, 
And tired nature sinks to quiet rest, 
A horseman dashes throug-h the silent streets 
Bearing- the waiting- prince the welcome word 
That one short journey of a sing-le day 
Divides him from the sweet Yasodhara ; 
And lig-ht-winged rumor spreads the joyful news, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book II. 49 

And ere the dawn had danced from mountain-top 
O'er hill and vale and plain to the sweet notes 
Of nature's rich and varied orchestra, 
And dried the pearly tears that nig-ht had wept, 
The prince led forth his train to meet his bride. 
Wondering- that Kantaka, always so free, 
So eag-er and so fleet, should seem to lag-. 
And in that frag-rant g-arden's cooling- shade, 
Where they had parted, now ag-ain they meet. 
And there we leave them reverently alone. 
For art can never paint nor words describe 
The peace and rest and rapture of that scene. 

Meanwhile the city ring-s with busy stir. 
The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes. 
And when the evening- shades had veiled the ee.rth, 
And heaven's blue vault was set with myriad stars. 
The promised sig-nal from the watchtower sounds. 
And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree. 
And merry children strew their way with flowers. 
And all come forth to g-reet Siddartha's bride. 
And welcome her, their second Maya, home. 
And at the palace g-ate the g-ood old king- 
Receives her with such loving- tenderness. 
As fondest mother, sick with hope deferred. 
Waiting- and watching- for an absent child, 
At leng-th receives him in her open arms. 



BOOK III 



And now his cup with every blessing- filled 
Full to the brim, to overflowing- full, 
What more has life to g-ive or heart to wish ? 
Stately in form, with every princely g-race, 
A very master of all manly arts, 
His g-entle manners making- all his friends, 
His young- blood bounding- on in healthful flow, 
His broad domains rich in all earth can yield, 
Guarded by nature and his people's love, 
And now that deepest of all wants supplied, 
The want of one to share each inmost thoug-ht, 
Whose sympathy can soothe each inmost smart, 
Whose presence, care and loving- touch can make 
The palace or the humblest cottag-e home, 
His life seemed rounded, perfect, full, complete. 
And they were happy as the days g-lide on, 
And when at nig-ht, locked in each other's arms, 
They sink to rest, heart beating- close to heart. 
Their thoug-hts all innocence and trust and love, 
It almost seemed as if remorseless Time 
Had backward rolled his tide, and broug-ht ag-ain 
The g-olden ag-e, with all its peace and joy, 

(50) 



The Buddha and the C'hrist— Book III. 51 

And our first parents, ere the tempter came, 
Were taking- sweet repose in paradise. 
But'as one nig-ht they slept, a troubled dream 
Disturbed the prince. He dreamed he saw one come, 
As young- and fair as sweet Yasodhara, 
But clad in widow's weeds, and in her arms 
A lifeless child, crying : " Most migfhty prince ! 
O bring- me back my husband and my child !" 
But he could only say " Alas ! poor soul !" 
And started out of sleep he cried "Alas !" 
Which waked the sweet Yasodhara, who asked, 
" What ails my love ?" " Only a troubled dream," 
The prince replied, but still she felt him tremble. 
And kissed and stroked his troubled brow. 
And soothed him into quiet sleep ag-ain. 
And then once more he dreamed — a pleasing- dream. 
He dreamed he heard strang-e music, soft and sweet; 
He only caug-ht its burden : " Peace, be still !" 
And then he thoug-ht he saw far off a lig"ht, 
And there a place where all was peace and rest, 
And waking- sig-hed to find it all a dream. 

One day this happy couple, side by side, 
Rode forth alone, Yasodhara unveiled — 
"For why," said she, "should those whose 

thoug-hts are pure 
Like g-uilty things hide from their fellow-men? " — 
Rode through the crowded streets, their only guard 
The people's love, strongest and best of guards ; 
For many arms would spring to their defense. 
While some grim tyrant, at whose stern command 



52 The Dawn and the Day, or 

A million swords would from their scabbards leap, 

Cring-es in terror behind bolts and bars, 

Starts at each sound, and fears some hidden mine 

May into atoms blow his stately towers, 

Or that some hand unseen may strike him down, 

And thinks that poison lurks in every cup, 

While thousands are in loathsome dungeons thrust 

Or pine in exile for a look or word. 

And as they pass along from street to street 

A sea of happy faces lines their way. 

Their joyful greetings answered by the prince. 

No face once seen, no name once heard, forgot. 

While sweet Yasodhara was wreathed in smiles, 

The kind expression of her gentle heart. 

When from a little cottage by the way, 

The people making room for him to pass, 

There came an aged man, so very old 

That time had ceased to register his years ; 

His step was firm, his eye, though faded, mild, 

And childhood's sweet expression on his face. 

The prince stopped short before him, bending low, 

And gently asked : " What would my father have? 

Speak freely — what I can, I freely give." 

" Most noble prince, I need no charity. 

For my kind neighbors give me all unasked. 

And my poor cottage where my fathers dwelt. 

And where my children and their mother died. 

Is kept as clean as when sweet Gunga lived ; 

And young and old cheer up my lonely hours. 

And ask me much of other times and men. 

For when your father's father was a child, 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book III. 



53 



I was a man, as young- and strong- as you, 

And my sweet Gung-a your companion's ag-e. 

But O the mystery of life explain ! 

Why are we born to tread this little round. 

To live, to love, to suffer, sorrow, die ? 

Why do the young- like field-flowers bloom to fade ? 

Why are the strong- like the mown g-rasscut down? 

Why am I left as if by death forg-ot, 

Left here alone, a leafless, fruitless trunk ? 

Is death the end, or what comes after death ? 

Often when deepest sleep shuts out the world, 

The dead still seem to live, while life fades out ; 
And when I sit alone and long for lig-ht 

The veil seems lifted, and I seem to see 

A world of life and lig-ht and peace and rest, 

No sickness, sin or sorrow, pain or death. 
No helpless infancy or hopeless ag-e. 

But we poor Sudras cannot understand — 
Yet from my earliest memory I've heard 
That from this hill one day should burst a light, 
Not for the Brahmans only, but for all. 
And when you were a child I saw a sag-e 
Bow down before you, calling- you that lig-ht. 
O noble, mig-hty prince ! let your light shine, 
That men no long-er g-rope in dark despair !" 

He spoke, and sank exhausted on the g-round. 
They g-ently raised him, but his life was fled. 
The prince g-ave one a well-filled purse and said : 
" Let his pile neither lack for sandal-wood 
Or any emblem of a life well spent." 



54 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And when fit time had passed they bore him thence 
And laid him on that couch where all sleep well, 
Half hid in flowers by loving- children broug-ht, 
A smile still ling-ering- on his still, cold lips, 
As if they just had tasted Gung-a's kiss. 
Soon to be kissed by eag-er whirling- flames. 

Just then two stately Brahmans proudly passed — 
Passed on the other side, g-athering- their robes 
To shun pollution from the common touch, 
And passing- said : " The prince with Sudras talks 
As friend to friend — but wisdom comes with years." 

Silent and thoug-htful then they homeward turned, 

The prince deep musing- on the old man's words : 

" ' The veil is lifted, and I seem to see 

A world of life and lig-ht and peace and rest.' 

O if that veil would only lift for me 

The mystery of life would be explained." 

As they passed on throug-h unfrequented streets. 

Seeking- to shun the busy, thoug-htless throng-. 

Those other words like duty's bug-le-call 

Still ring-ing- in his ears : " Let your lig^ht shine. 

That men no longer grope in dark despair" — 

The old sad thoug-hts, long- checked by passing- 

joys, 

Rolling- and surg-ing-, swept his troubled soul — 
As pent-up waters, having- burst their dams. 
Sweep down the valleys and o'erwhelm the plains. 

Just then an ag-ed, ang-ry voice cried out : 
" O help ! they've stolen my jewels and my gold !'^ 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book III. 



55 



And from a wretched hovel by the way 

An old man came, hated and shunned by all, 

Whose life was spent in hoarding- unused gold. 

Grinding- the poor, devouring widows' homes ; 

111 fed, ill clad, from eagerness to save. 

His sunken eyes glittering with rage and greed. 

And when the prince enquired what troubled him : 

" Trouble enough," he said, '' my sons have fled 

Because I would not waste in dainty fare 

And rich apparel all my life has saved. 

And taken all my jewels, all my gold. 

Would that they both lay dead before my face ! 

O precious jewels ! O beloved gold !" 

The prince, helpless to soothe, hopeless to cure 

This rust and canker of the soul, passed on, 

His heart with all-embracing pity filled. 

" O deepening mystery of life ! " he cried, 

"Why do such souls in human bodies dwell — 

Fitter for ravening wolves or greedy swine ! 

Just at death's door cursing his flesh and blood 

For thievish greed inherited from him. 

Is this old age, or swinish greed grown old ? 

O how unlike that other life just fled ! 

His youth's companions, wife and children, dead, 

Yet filled with love for all, by all beloved, 

With his whole heart yearning for others' good. 

With his last breath bewailing others' woes." 

" My best beloved," said sweet Yasodhara, 

Her bright eyes filled with sympathetic tears. 

Her whole soul yearning for his inward peace, 

" Brood not too much on life's dark mystery— 



56 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Behind the darkest clouds the sun still shines." 

*'But," said the prince, ''the many blindly grope 

In sorrow, fear and ignorance profound, 

While their proud teachers, with their heads erect, 

Stalk boldly on, blind leaders of the blind. 

Come care, come fasting-, woe and pain for me. 

And ev^en exile from my own sweet home. 

All would I welcome could I give them light." 

" But would 3'ou leave 3^our home, leave me, leave all. 

And even leave our unborn pledge of love. 

The living blending of our inmost souls, 

That now within me stirs to bid you pause ? " 

" Only for love of you and him and all ! 

hard necessity ! O bitter cup ! 

But would you have me like a coward shun 
The path of duty, though beset with thorns — 
Thorns that must pierce your tender feet and mine? " 
Piercing the question as the sharpest sword ; 
Their love, their joys, tempted to say him nay. 
But soon she conquered all and calmly said : 
" My love, my life, where duty plainly calls 

1 bid you go, though my poor heart must bleed. 
And though my eyes weep bitter scalding tears." 

Their hearts too full for words, too full for tears, 
Gently he pressed her hand and they passed home ; 
And in the presence of this dark unknown 
A deep and all-pervading tenderness 
Guides every act and tempers every tone — 
As in the chamber of the sick and loved 
The step is light, the voice is soft and low. 



The Buddha, and the Christ — Book III. 57 

But soon their days with varied duties filled, 
Their nig-hts with sweet repose, glide smoothly on, 
Until this shadow seems to lift and fade — 
As when the sun bursts throug-h the passing- storm, 
Gilding- the g-littering- raindrops as they fall. 
And paints the bow of hope on passing- clouds. 
Yet still the old sad thoug-hts sometimes return. 
The burden of a dut^- unperformed. 
The earnest yearning- for a clearer lig-ht. 
The thoug-ht that hour by hour and day by day 
The helpless multitudes g-rope blindly on. 
Clouded his joys and often banished sleep. 

One day in this sad mood he thoug-ht to see 
His people as they are in daily life. 
And not in holiday attire to meet their prince. 
In merchant's dress, his charioteer his clerk. 
The prince and Channa passed unknown, and saw 
The crowded streets alive with busy hum, 
Traders cross-leg-g-ed, with their varied wares, 
The wordy war to cheapen or enhance. 
One rushing- on to clear the streets for wains 
With hug-e stone wheels, by slow strong- oxen 

drawn ; 
Palanquin-bearers droning- out "Hu, hu, ho, ho," 
While keeping- step and praising- him they bear ; 
The housewives from the fountain water bring- 
In balanced water-jars, their black-eyed babes 
Athwart their hips, their busy tong-ues meanwhile 
Bng-ag-ed in g-ossip of the little thing-s 
That make the daily round of life to them ; 



58 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The skillful weaver at his clumsy loom ; 
The miller at his millstones grinding meal ; 
The armorer, linking- his shirts of mail ; 
The money-chang-er at his heartless trade ; 
The g'aping', eag^er crowd g'athered to watch 
Snake-charmers, that can make their deadly charg-e 
Dance harmless to the drone of beaded g-ourds ; 
Sword-players, keeping- many knives in air ; 
Jug-g-lers, and those that dance on ropes swung- 

hig-h : 
And all this varied work and busy idleness 
As in a panorama passing- by. 

While they were passing- throug-h these varied 

scenes. 
The prince, whose ears were tuned to life's sad 

notes, 
Whose eyes were quick to catch its deepest shades. 
Found sorrow, pain and want, disease and death. 
Were woven in its very warp and woof. 
A tig-er, spring-ing- from a sheltering- bush, 
Had snatched a merchant's comrade from his side ; 
A deadly cobra, hidden by the path. 
Had stung- to death a widow's only son ; 
A breath of jung-le-wind a youth's blood chilled. 
Or filled a strong- man's bones with piercing- pain ; 
A household widowed by a careless step ; 
The quick cross-lig-htning- from an angry cloud 
Struck down a brideg-room bring-ing- home his 

bride — 
All this and more he heard, and much he saw : 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book III. 59 

A young" man, stricken in life's earl}^ prime, 
Shuffled along-, dragging- one palsied limb, 
While one limp arm hung- useless by his side ; 
A dwarf sold little knickknacks b}- the way, 
His body scarcely in the human form, 
To which long arms and leg-s seemed loosel}^ hung, 
His noble head thrust forward on his breast. 
Whose pale, sad face as plainly told as words 
That life had neither health nor hope for him ; 
An old man tottering from a hovel came. 
Frail, hag-gard, palsied, leaning on a staif. 
Whose eyes, dull, glazed and meaningless, pro- 
claim 
The body lingers when the mind has fled ; 
One seized with sudden hot distemper of the blood, 
Writhing- with ang-uish, by the wayside sunk. 
The purple plague-spot on his pallid cheek, 
Cold drops of perspiration on his brow. 
With wildly rolling eyes and livid lips, 
Gasping- for breath and feebly asking help — 
But ere the prince could aid, death gave relief. 

At leng-th they passed the city's outer g-ate 
And down a stream, now spread in shining pools, 
Now leaping- in cascades, now dashing- on, 
A line of foam along- its rocky bed. 
Bordered by giant trees with densest shade. 
Here, day by day, the city bring their dead ; 
Here, day by day, they build the funeral-piles ; 
Here lamentations daily fill the air ; 
Here hissing flames each day taste human flesh, 



60 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And friendly watchmen guard the smoldering- pile 

Till friends can cull the relics from the dust. 

And here, just finished, rose a noble pile 

By stately Brahmans for a Brahman built 

Of frag-rant woods, and drenched with frag-rant 

oils. 
Loading- the air with every sweet perfume 
That India's forests or her fields can yield ; 
Above, a couch of sacred cusa-g-rass, 
On which no dreams disturb the sleeper's rest. 
And now the sound of music reaches them. 
Far off at first, solemn and sad and slow, 
Rising- and swelling- as it nearer comes, 
Until a long- procession comes in view, 
Four Brahmans first, bearing- in bowls the fire 
No more to burn on one deserted hearth. 
Then stately Brahmans on their shoulders bore 
A noble brother of their sacred caste. 
In manhood's bloom and early prime cut down. 
Then Brahman youth, bearing- a little child 
Half hid in flowers, and as in seeming- sleep. 
Then other Brahmans in a litter bore 
One young- and fair, in early womanhood, 
Her youthful beauty joined with matron g-race. 
In bridal dress adorned with costly g-ems — 
The very face the prince had dreaming- seen. 
The very child she carried in her arms. 
Then many more, uncovered, four by four. 
The ag-ed first, then those in manhood's prime, 
And then the young- with many acolytes 
Chanting- in unison their sacred hymns. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book III. 61 

Accompanied by many instruments, 

Both wind and string-, in solemn symphony ; 

And at respectful distance other castes. 

Afraid to touch a Brahman's sacred robes 

Or even ming-le with his g-rief their tears. 

And when they reached the frag-rant funeral-pile, 

Weeping- they placed their dead on their last couch, 

The child within its father's nerveless arms ; 

And when all funeral rites had been performed, 

The widow circled thrice the funeral-pile. 

Distributing- her g-ifts with lavish hand. 

Bidding- her friends a long- and last farewell — 

Then stopped, and raised her tearless eyes and said: 

" Farewell, a long- farewell, to life and friends! 

Farewell ! O earth and air and sacred sun! 

Nanda, my lord, Udra, my child, I come ! " 

Then pale but calm, with fixed ecstatic g-aze 

And steady steps she mounts the funeral-pile, 

Crying-, " They beckon me ! I come ! I come ! " 

Then sunk as if the silver cord were loosed 

As still as death upon her silent dead. 

Instant the flames from the four corners leaped, 

Ming-ling- in one devouring-, eag-er blaze. 

No g-roan, no cry, only the crackling- flames, 

The wailing- notes of man}^ instruments, 

And solemn chant by many voices raised, 

** Perfect is she who follows thus her lord." 

O dark and cruel creeds, O perfect love, 

Fitter for heaven than this sad world of ours ! 

More than enough the prince had seen and heard. 



62 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Bowed by the grievous burdens others bore, 
Feeling- for others' sorrows as his own, 
Tears of divinest pity filled his eyes 
And deep and all-embracing- love his heart. 
Home he returned, no more to find its rest. 

But soon a lig"ht shines in that troubled house- 
A son is born to sweet Yasodhara. 
Their eyes saw not, neither do ours, that sun 
Whose lig"ht is wisdom and whose heat is love, 
Sending- throug-h nature waves of living" lig"ht, 
Giving- its life to everything- that lives. 
Which throug-h the innocence of little ones 
As throug-h wide-open windows sends his rays 
To lig-ht the darkest, warm the coldest heart. 
Sweet infancy ! life's solace and its rest. 
Driving- away the loneliness of ag-e, 
Wreathing- in smiles the wrinkled brow of care. 
Nectar to joyful, balm to troubled hearts. 
Joyful once more is King- Suddhodana ; 
A placid joy beams from that mother's face ; 
Joy lit the palace, flew from street to street. 
And from the city over hill and plain ; 
Joy filled the prince's ag-itated soul — 
He felt a power, from whence he could not tell, 
Drawing- away, he knew not where it led. 
He knew the dreaded separation near. 
Yet half its pain and bitterness was passed. 
He need not leave his loved ones comfortless — 
His loving- people still would have their prince. 
The king- in young- Rahula have his son. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book III. 63 

And sweet Yasodhara, his very life, 
Would have that nearest, dearest comforter 
To soothe her cares and drive away her tears.* 

But now strang-e dreams disturb the g-ood old king- 
Dreams starting- him in terror from his sleep, 
Yet seeming prophecies of coming- good. 
He dreamed he saw the liag his fathers loved 
In tatters torn and trailing in the dust. 
But in its place another g-lorious flag-, 
Whose silken folds seemed woven thick with gems 
That as it waved g-littered with dazzling- light. 
He dreamed he saw proud embassies from far 
Bringing the crowns and scepters of the earth, 
Bowing in reverence before the prince. 
Humbly entreating- him to be their king- — 
From whom he fled in haste as if in fear. 
Then dreamed he saw his son in tattered robes 
Begg-ing from Sudras for his daily bread. 
Again, he dreamed he saw the ancient tower 
Where he in worship had so often knelt, 
Rising and shining- clothed with living lig-ht, 
And on its top the prince, beaming with love, 
Scattering with lavish hand the richest g^ems 
On eager crowds that caug-ht them as they fell. 
But soon it vanished, and he saw a hill. 
Rugged and bleak, cliff crowned and bald and bare, 

- In the " Light of Asia " the prince is made to leave his young wife 
before the birth of their son, saying : 

" Whom, if I wait to bless my heart will fail," 
-a piece of cowardice hardly consistent with my conception of that 
brave and self-denying character. 



64 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And there he saw the prince, kneeling alone, 
Wasted with cruel fasting's till his bones 
Clave to his skin, and in his sunken eyes 
With fitful flicker gleamed the lamp of life 
Until they closed, and on the ground he sank, 
As if in death or in a deadly swoon ; 
And then the hill sank to a spreading plain. 
Stretching beyond the keenest vision's ken. 
Covered with multitudes as numberless 
As ocean's sands or autumn's forest leaves ; 
And mounted on a giant elephant. 
White as the snows on Himalaya's peaks. 
The prince rode through their midst in royal state, 
And as he moved along he heard a shout. 
Rising and swelling, like the mighty voice 
Of many waters breaking on the shore : 
"All hail ! great Chakravartin, king of kings ! 
Hail ! king of righteousness ! Hail ! prince of 
peace ! " 

Strange dreams! Where is their birthplace — 

where their home ? 
Lighter than foam upon the crested wave. 
Fleeter than shadows of the passing cloud, 
Thej are of such fantastic substance made 
That quick as thought they change their fickle 

forms — 
Now grander than the waking vision views. 
Now stranger than the wildest fancy feigns. 
And now so grim and terrible they start 
The hardened conscience from its guilty sleep. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book III. 65 

In troops they come, trooping* they fly away, 
Waved into being by the mag-ic wand 
Of some deep purpose of the inmost soul. 
Some hidden joy or sorrow, g-uilt or fear — 
Or better, as the wise of old believed. 
Called into being- by some heavenly g-uest 
To soothe, to warn, instruct or terrify. 

Strang-e dreams by nig-ht and troubled thoug-hts 
by day 
Disturb the prince and banish quiet sleep. 
He dreamed that darkness, visible and dense. 
Shrouded the heavens and brooded o'er the earth, 
Whose rayless, formless, vacant nothing-ness 
Curdled his blood and made his eyeballs ache ; 
When suddenly from out this empty void 
A cloud, shining- with g-olden lig"ht, was borne 
By g-entle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes, 
Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield. 
The cloud passed just above him, and he saw 
Myriads of cherub faces looking- down, 
Sweet as Rahula, freed from earthly stain ; 
Such faces mortal brush could never paint — 
Enraptured Raphael ne'er such faces saw. 
But still the outer darkness hovered near. 
And ever and anon a bony hand 
Darts out to snatch some cherub face away. 
Then dreamed he saw a broad and pleasant land. 
With cities, g-ardens, g-roves and fruitful fields, 
Where bee-fed flowers half hide the ripening- fruits. 
And spicy breezes stir the trembling- leaves. 



66 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And many birds make sweetest melody, 

But bordered by a valley black as nig-ht, 

That ever vomits from its sunless depths 

Great whirling- clouds of suffocating- smoke, 

Blacker than hide the burning- Etna's head, 

Blacker than over Lake Avernus hung- ; 

No bird could fly above its fatal fumes ; 

Eag-les, on tireless pinions upward borne, 

In widening- circles rising- toward the sun, 

Venturing- too near its exhalations, fall. 

As sinks the plummet in the silent sea ; 

And lions, springing- on their antlered prey. 

Drop still and lifeless on its deadly brink ; 

Only the jackal's dismal howl is heard 

To break its stillness and eternal sleep. 

He was borne forward to the very verg-e 

Of this dark valley, by some power unseen. 

A wind that pierced his marrow parts the clouds, 

And far within, below he saw a sig-ht 

That stood his hair on end, beaded his brow 

With icy drops, and made his blood run cold : 

He saw a lofty throne, blacker than jet, 

But shinino^ with a strang-e and baleful lig-ht 

That made him shade his blinded, dazzled eyes. 

And seated on that throne a ghastly form 

That seemed a giant human skeleton. 

But yet in motion terrible and quick 

As lightning, killing ere the thunders roll ; 

His fieshless skull had on a seeming crown. 

While from his sunken sockets glared his eyes 

Like coals of fire or eyes of basilisk. 



Thb Buddha and the Christ — Book III. 67 

And from his bony hand each instant flew 
Unerring darts that flew to pierce and kill, 
Piercing- the infant in its mother's arms, 
The mother when she feels her first-born's breath, 
Piercing the father in his happy home, 
Piercing the lover tasting love's first kiss, 
Piercing the vanquished when his banners fall. 
Piercing the victor 'mid triumphant shouts, 
Piercing the mighty monarch on his throne ; 
While from a towering cypress growing near 
Every disease to which frail flesh is heir 
Like ravening vultures watch each arrow's flight. 
And quick as thought glide off on raven's wings 
To bring the wounded, writhing victim in — 
As well-trained hunters mark their master's aim. 
Then fly to bring the wounded quarry home. 
Meanwhile a stifling stench rose from below — 
As from a battle-field where nations met 
And fiery ranks of living valor fought, 
Now food for vultures, moldering cold and low — 
And bleaching bones were scattered everywhere. 

Startled he wakes and rises from his couch. 
The lamps shine down with soft and mellow light. 
The fair Yasodhara still lay in sleep. 
But not in quiet sleep. Her bosom heaved 
As if a sigh were seeking to escape ; 
Her brows were knit as if in pain or fear. 
And tears were stealing from her close-shut lids. 
But sweet Rahula slept, and sleeping smiled 
As if he too those cherub faces saw. 



68 The Dawn and the Day, or 

In haste alone he noiselessly stole forth 

To wander in the park, and cool his brow 

And calm his burdened, ag-itated soul. 

The nig-ht had reached that hour preceding" dawn 

When nature seems in solemn silence hushed, 

Awed by the g"lories of the coming- day. 

The moon hung- low above the western plains ; 

Unnumbered stars with double brig-htness shine, 

And half-transparent mists the landscape veil, 

Throug-h which the mountains in dim g-randeur 

rise. 
Silent, alone he crossed the maidan wide 
Where first he saw the sweet Yasodhara, 
Where joyful multitudes so often met, 
Now still as that dark valley of his dream. 
He passed the lake, mirror of heaven's hig-h vault, 
Whose ruffled waters ripple on the shore, 
Stirred by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks ; 
And heedless of his way passed on and up, 
Throug-h g-iant cedars and the lofty pines. 
Over a leafy carpet, velvet soft, 
While solemn voices from their branches sound, 
Strang-ely in unison with his sad soul ; 
And on and up until he reached a spot 
Above the trees, above the mist-wrapped world, 
Where opening- chasms yawned on every side. 
Perforce he stopped ; and, roused from revery, 
Gazed on the dark and silent world below. 
The moon had sunk from sig-ht, the stars g-rew dim, 
And densest darkness veiled the sleeping- world. 
When suddenly brig-ht beams of rosy lig-ht 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book III. 69 

Shot Up the east ; the hig-hest mountain-top 
Glittered as if both land and sea had joined 
Their richest jewels and most costly g-ems 
To make its crown ; from mountain-peak to peak 
The brig-htness spread, and darkness slunk away, 
Until between two g-iant mountain-tops 
Glittered a wedg-e of g-old ; the hills were ting-ed, 
And soon the sun flooded the world with lig-ht 
As when the darkness heard that first command : 
" Let there be lig-ht ! " and lig-ht from chaos shone. 
Raptured he g-azed upon the glorious scene.^ 
'' And can it be," he said, " with floods of lig-ht 
Filling- the blue and boundless vault above, 
Bathing- in brig-htness mountain, hill and plain, 
Sending its rays to ocean's hidden depths, 
With light for bird and beast and creeping thing. 
Light for all eyes, oceans of light to spare, 
That man alone from outer darkness comes. 
Gropes blindly on his brief and restless round, 
And then in starless darkness disappears ? 
There must be light, fountains of living light, 
For which my thirsty spirit pining pants 
As pants the hunted hart for water-brooks-- 
Another sun, lighting a better world. 
Where weary souls may find a welcome rest. 
Gladly I'd climb yon giddy mountain-heights, 
Or gladly take the morning's wings and fly 
To earth's remotest bounds, if light were there. 
Welcome to me the hermit's lonely cell, 
And welcome dangers, labors, fastings, pains — 
All would be welcome could I bring the light 



70 The Dawn and the Day, or 

To myriads now in hopeless darkness sunk. 
Farewell to king^dom, comforts, home and friends ! 
All will I leave to seek this g-lorious lig-ht." 
The die is cast, the victor}^ is gained. 
Thoug-h love of people, parent, wife and child, 
Half selfish, half divine, may bid him pause, 
A higher love, unselfish, all divine, 
For them and every soul, bade him go forth 
To seek for light, and seek till light be found. 
Home he returned, now strong to say farewell. 

Meanwhile the sweet Yasodhara still slept, 
And dreamed she saw Siddartha's empty couch. 
She dreamed she saw him flying far away, 
And when she called to him he answered not, 
But only stopped his ears and faster flew 
Until he seemed a speck, and then was gone. 
And then she heard a mighty voice cry out : 
" The time has come — his glory shall appear ! " 
Waked by that voice, she found his empty couch, 
Siddartha gone, and with him every joy ; 
But not all joy, for there Rahula lay. 
With great wide-open eyes and cherub smile. 
Watching the lights that flickered on the wall. 
Caught in her arms she pressed him to her heart 
To still its tumult and to ease its pain. 

But now that step she knew so well is heard. 
Siddartha comes, filled with unselfish love 
Until his face beamed with celestial light 
That like a holy halo crowned his head. 



The Buddha and the Chkist-Book III. 71 

Gently he spoke : -My dearest and my best, 

The time has come - the time when we must part. 

Let not your heart be troubled — it is best." 

This said, a tender kiss spoke to her heart. 

In love's own language, of unchanging love. 

When sweet Rahula stretched his little arms, 

And cooing asked his share of tenderness, 

Siddartha from her bosom took their boy, 

And though sore troubled, both together smiled, 

And with him playing, that sweet jargon spoke. 

Which though no lexicon contains its words, 

Seems like the speech of angels, poorly learned. 

For every sound and syllable and word 

Was filled brimful of pure and perfect love. 

At length grown calm, they tenderly communed 

Of all their past, of all their hopes and fears ; 

And when the time of separation came, 

His holy resolution gave her strength 

To give the last embrace and say farewell. 

And forth he rode,* mounted on Kantaka, 

A prince, a loving father, husband, son, 

To exile driven by all-embracing love. 

. In the " Light of Asia," the prince, after leaving his young wife, is 
made to pass through a somewhat extensive harem en deshabdle. which 
Tdescribed w-t^ Voluptuous minuteness. Although there are so^e 
things in later Buddhistic literature that seem to justify it, I can but 
egard he introduction of an institution so entirely ^Hen to every age 
wm and degree of Aryan civilization and so inconsistent with the 
ererconjugaTlovewh'chwasthe strongest tie to his ^e^ov^^ ^^-J^; 
as a serious blot on that beautiful poem and as inconsistent with its 
whole theory, for no prophet ever came from a harem. 



72 The Dawn and the Day. 

What wonder, as the ancient writings say, 
That nature to her inmost depths was stirred, 
And as he passed the birds burst forth in song-, 
Fearless of hawk or kite that hovered near ? 
What wonder that the beasts of field and wood, 
And all the jungle's savage denizens. 
Gathered in groups and gamboled fearlessly, 
Leopards with kids and wolves with skipping 

lambs ? 
For he who rode alone, bowed down and sad, 
Taught millions, crores* of millions, yet unborn 
To treat with kindness every living thing. 
What wonder that the deepest hells were stirred ? 
What wonder that the heavens were filled with joy ? 
For he, bowed down with sorrow, going forth. 
Shall come with joy and teach all men the way 
From earth's sad turmoil to Nirvana's rest. 

♦ A crore is ten millions. 



BOOK IV. 



Far from his kitig-dom, far from home and friends, 
The prince has g-one, his flowing- locks close shorn, 
His ring-s and soft apparel laid aside, 
All signs of rank and royalty cast off. 
Clothed in a yellow robe, simple and coarse, 
Throug-h unknown streets from door to door be 

passed, 
Holding- an alms-bowl forth for willing g-ifts. 
But when, won by his stateliness and g-race, 
They brought their choicest stores, he gently said : 
*' Not so, my friends, keep such for those who need — 
The sick and old ; give me but common food." 
And when sufficient for the day was given, 
He took a way leading without the walls, 
And through rich gardens, through the fruitful 

fields. 
Under dark mangoes and the jujube trees. 
Eastward toward Sailagiri, hill of gems ; 
And through an ancient grove, skirting its base, 
Where, soothed by every soft and tranquil sound. 
Full many saints were wearing out their days 
In meditation, earnest, deep, intent, 
. (73) 



74 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Seeking* to solve the m3'stery of life, 

Seeking-, by leaving- all its joys and cares, 

Seeking-, by doubling all its woes and pains. 

To gain an entrance to eternal rest ; 

And winding- up its rugg-ed sides., to where 

A shoulder of the mountain, sloping west, 

O'erhang-s a cave with wild figs canopied. 

This mountain cave was now his dwelling--place, 

A stone his pillow, and the earth his bed. 

His earthen alms-bowl holding- all his stores 

Except the crystal waters, murmuring- near. 

A lonely path, rug-ged, and rough, and steep ; 

A lonely cave, its stillness only stirred 

By eag-le's scream, or raven's solemn croak. 

Or by the distant city's softened sounds. 

Save when a sudden tempest breaks above. 

And rolling- thunders shake the trembling- hills — 

A path since worn by countless pilg-rims' feet. 

Coming- from far to view this hallowed spot, 

And bow in worship on his hard, cold bed, 

And press his pillow with their loving lips. 

For here, for six long- years, the world-renowned. 

The tender lover of all living- thing-s. 

Fasted and watched and wrestled for the lig-ht. 

Less for himself than for a weeping- world. 

And here arrived, he ate his simple meal. 

And then in silent meditation sat 

The livelong- day, heedless of noon's fierce heat 

That sent to covert birds and panting- beasts, 

And from the parched and glowing plain sent up, 

As from a furnace, g-usts of scorching- air. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book IV. 75 

Throug-h which the city's walls, the rocks and 

trees. 
All seemed to tremble, quiver, g-low and shake, 
As if a palsy shook the trembling- world ; 
Heedless of loosened rocks that crashed so near, 
And dashed and thundered to the depths below. 
And of the shepherds, who with wondering- awe 
Came near to gaze upon his noble form 
And gentle, loving but majestic face, 
And thought some god had deigned to visit men. 
And thus he sat, still as the rock his seat. 
Seeking to pierce the void from whence man came, 
To look beyond the veil that shuts him in. 
To find a clue to life's dark labyrinth. 
Seeking to know why man is cast adrift 
Upon the bosom of a troubled sea. 
His boat so frail, his helm and compass lost, 
To sink at last in dull oblivion's depths ; 
When nature seems so perfect and complete, 
Grand as a whole, and perfect all its parts. 
Which from the greatest to the least proclaims 
That Wisdom, Watchfulness, and Power and Love 
Which built the mountains, spread the earth 

abroad. 
And fixed the bounds that ocean cannot pass ; 
Which taught the seasons their accustomed rounds. 
Lest seed-time and the happy harvests fail ; 
Which guides the stars in their celestial course, 
And guides the pigeon's swift unerring flight 
O'er mountain, sea and plain and desert waste, 
Straight as an arrow to her distant home ; 



76 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Teaching" the ant for winter to prepare ; 
Clothing- the lily in its princely pride ; 
Watching- the tiny sparrow when it falls ; 
Nothing too g-reat for His almighty arm ; 
Nothing- too small for His all-seeing eye ; 
Nothing too mean for His paternal care. 

And thus he mused, seeking- to find a lig-ht 
To g-uide men on their dark and weary way. 
And throug-h the valley and the shades of deaths 
Until the g-lories of the setting- sun 
Called him to vespers and his evening- meal. 

Then roused from revery, ablutions made, 
Eig-ht times he bowed, just as the setting" sun, 
A fiery red, sunk slowly out of sight 
Beyond the western plains, g-ilded and ting-ed. 
Misty and vast, beneath a brilliant sky, 
Shaded from brightest gold to softest rose. 
Then, after supper, back and forth he paced 
Upon the narrow rock before his cave. 
Seeking to ease his numbed and stifi^ened limbs ; 
While evening's sombre shadows slowly crept 
From plain to hill and highest mountain-top. 
And solemn silence settled on the world. 
Save for the night-jar's cry and owl's complaint ; 
While many lights from out the city gleam, 
And thickening stars spangle the azure vault, 
Until the moon, with soft and silvery light, 
Half veils and half reveals the sleeping world. 
And then he slept — for weary souls must sleep, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book IV. 77 

As well as bodies worn with daily toil ; 

And as he lay stretched on his hard, cold bed, 

His youthful blood ag-ain bounds freely on, 

Repairing- wastes the weary day had made. 

And then he dreamed. Sometimes he dreamed of 

home, 
Of young- Rahula, reaching- out his arms, 
Of sweet Yasodhara with loving- words 
Cheering- him on, as love alone can cheer. 
Sometimes he dreamed he saw that living- light 
For which his earnest soul so long had yearned — 
But over hills and mountains far away. 
And then he seemed with labored steps to climb 
Down giddy cliffs, far harder than ascent, 
While yawning- chasms threatened to devour. 
And beetling- cliffs precluded all retreat ; 
But still the way seemed opening- step by step, 
Until he reached the valley's lowest depths, 
Where twilig-ht reig-ned, and g-rim and g-hastly 

forms, 
With flaming- swords, obstruct his onward way, 
But his all-conquering- love still urg-ed him on. 
When with wild shrieks they vanished in thin air; 
And then he climbed, cling-ing to jutting- cliffs, 
And stunted trees that from each crevice grew, 
Till weary, breathless, he regained the heig-hts, 
To see that lig-ht nearer, but still so far. 

And thus he slept, and thus sometimes he 
dreamed. 
But rose before the dawn had ting-ed the east. 



78 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Before the jung-le-cock had made his call, 

When thoug-hts are clearest, and the world is still, 

Refreshed and strengthened for his daily search 

Into the seeds of sorrow, g-erms of pain. 

After a light to scatter doubts and fears. 

But when the coming day silvered the east, 
And warmed that silver into softest gold. 
And faintest rose-tints tinged the passing clouds, 
He, as the Vedas taug-ht, each morning bathed 
In the clear stream that murmured near his cave, 
Then bowed in reverence to the rising sun, 
As from behind the glittering mountain-peaks 
It burst in glory on the waking world. 

Then bowl and staff in hand, he took his way 
Along his mountain-path and through the grove, 
And through the gardens, through the fruitful 

fields, 
Down to the city, for his daily alms ; 
While children his expected coming watch, 
And running cry : "The gracious Rishi comes." 
All gladly gave, and soon his bowl was filled, 
For he repaid their gifts with gracious thanks, 
And his unbounded love, clearer than words, 
Spoke to their hearts as he passed gently on. 
Even stolid plowmen after him would look, 
Wondering that one so stately and so grand 
Should even for them have kind and gracious words. 
Sometimes while passing through the sacred grove, 
He paused beneath an aged banyan-tree, 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book IV. 79 

Whose spreading- branches drooping- down took 

root 
To grow ag-ain in other g-iant trunks, 
An ever-widening-, ever-deepening- shade, 
Where five, like him in manhood's early prime, 
Each bound to life by all its tender ties, 
Hig-h born and rich, had left their happy homes. 
Their only food chance-g-athered day by day, 
Their only roof this spreading- banyan-tree ; 
And there long- time they earnestly communed. 
Seeking- to aid each other in the search 
For hig-her life and for a clearer lig-ht. 
And here, under a sacred peepul's shade. 
Two Brahmans, famed for sanctit}^ had dwelt 
For many years, all cares of life cast off. 
Who by long- fasting-s soug-ht to make the veil 
Of flesh translucent to the inner eye ; 
Eyes fixed intently on the nose's tip, 
To lose all consciousness of outward thing-s ; 
By breath suppressed to still the outer pulse. 
So that the soul mig-ht wake to conscious life, 
And on unfolded wing-s unchecked mig-ht rise. 
And in the purest auras freely soar, 
Above cross-currents that eng-ender clouds 
Where thunders roll, and quick cross-lig-htning-s 

play. 
To view the world of causes and of life, 
And bathe in lig-ht that knows no nig-ht, no chang-e. 
With eag-er questioning-s he soug-ht to learn. 
While they with g-entle answers gladly taught 
All that their self-denying search had learned. 



80 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And thus he passed his days and months and years, 
In constant, patient, earnest search for light, 
With long-er fastings and more earnest search, 
While day by day his body frailer grew, 
Until his soul, loosed from its earthly bonds. 
Sometimes escaped its narrow prison-house. 
And like the lark to heaven's gate it soared, 
To view the glories of the coming dawn. 
But as he rose, the sad and sorrowing world. 
For which his soul with tender love had yearned. 
Seemed deeper in the nether darkness sunk, 
Beyond his reach, beyond his power to save. 
When sadly to his prison-house he turned. 
Wishing no light that did not shine for all. 

Six years had passed, six long and weary years, 
Since first he left the world to seek for light. 
Knowledge he found, knowledge that soared aloft 
To giddy heights, and sounded hidden depths. 
Secrets of knowledge that the Brahmans taught 
The favored few, but far beyond the reach 
Of those who toil and weep and cry for help ; 
A light that gilds the highest mountain-tops. 
But leaves the fields and valleys dark and cold ; 
But not that living light for which he yearned. 
To light life's humble walks and common ways. 
And send its warmth to every heart and home, 
As spring-time sends a warm and genial glow 
To every hill and valley, grove and field. 
Clothing in softest verdure common grass. 
As well as sandal-trees and lofty palms. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book IV. 81 

One nig-ht, when hope seemed yielding- to despair, 
Sleepless he lay upon the earth — his bed — 
When suddenly a white and dazzling- lig-ht 
Shone throug-h the cave, and all was dark again. 
Startled he rose, then prostrate in the dust. 
His inmost soul breathed forth an earnest prayer * 
That he who made the lig-ht would make it shine 
Clearer and clearer to that perfect day, 
When innocence, and peace, and righteousness 
Mig-ht fill the earth, and ig-norance and fear, 
And cruelty and crime, mig-ht fly away. 
As birds of nig-ht and savag-e prowling beasts 
Fly from the g-lories of the rising- sun. 
Long time he lay, wrestling- in earnest prayer, 
When from the eastern wall, one clothed in light, 
Beaming- with love, and halo-crowned, appeared. 
And g-ently said : " Siddartha, rise ! go forth ! 
Waste not your days in fasts, your nights in tears ! 
Give what you have ; do what you find to do ; 
With gentle admonitions check the strong ; 
With loving counsels aid and guide the weak, 

* I am aware there are many who think that Buddha did not be- 
lieve in prayer, which Arnold puts into his own mouth in these words, 
which sound like the clanking- of chains in a prison-vault : 

" Pray not ! the darkness will not brighten ! Ask 
Nought from Silence, for it cannot speak! " 
Buddha did teach that mere prayers without any effort to over- 
come our evils is of no more use than for a merchant to pray the farther 
bank of a swollen stream to come to him without seeking any means to 
cross, which merely differs in words from the declaration of St. James 
that faith without works is dead; but if he ever taught that the earn- 
est yearning of a soul for help, which is the essence of prayer, is no 
aid in the struggle for a higher life, then my whole reading has be«n 
at fault, and the whole Buddhist worship has been a departure from 
the teachings of its founder. 



82 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And lig"ht will come, the day will surely dawn." 
This said, the lig-ht grew dim, the form was gone. 
But hope revived, his heart was strong- again. 

Joyful he rose, and when the rising sun 
Had filled the earth's dark places full of light, 
With all his worldly wealth, his staff and bowl. 
Obedient to that voice he left his cave ; 
When from a shepherd's cottage near his way. 
Whence he had often heard the busy hum 
Of industry, and childhood's merry laugh, 
There came the angry, stern command of one 
Clothed in a little brief authority. 
Mingled with earnest pleadings, and the wail 
Of women's voices, and above them all 
The plaintive treble of a little child. 
Thither he turned, and when he reached the spot. 
The cause of all this sorrow was revealed : 
One from the king had seized their little all. 
Their goats and sheep, and e'en the child's pet lamb. 
But when they saw him they had often watched 
With reverent awe, as if come down from heaven. 
Prostrate they fell, and kissed his garment's hem. 
While he so insolent, now stood abashed, 
And, self accused, he thus excused himself : 
" The Brahmans make this day a sacrifice. 
And they demand unblemished goats and lambs. 
I but obey the king's express command 
To bring them to the temple ere high noon." 
But Buddha stooped and raised the little child, 
Who nestled in his arms in perfect trust, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book IV. 83 

And gently said : " Rise up, my friends, weep not ! 
The king- must be obeyed — but king's have hearts. 
I g"o along to be your advocate. 
The king may spare what zealous priest would kill, 
Thinking the gods above delight in blood." 
But when the of&cers would drive the flock 
With staves and slings and loud and angry cries, 
They only scattered them among the rocks. 
And Buddha bade the shepherd call his own. 
As love can lead where force in vain would drive. 
He called ; they knew his voice and followed him. 
Dumb innocents, down to the slaughter led. 
While Buddha kissed the child, and followed them, 
With those so late made insolent by power. 
Now dumb as if led out to punishment. 

Meanwhile the temple-gates wide open stood, 
And when the king, in royal purple robed. 
And decked with gems, attended by his court. 
To clash of cymbals, sound of shell and drum. 
Through streets swept clean and sprinkled with 

perfumes, 
Adorned with flags, and fllled with shouting crowds. 
Drew near the sacred shrine, a greater came. 
Through unswept ways, where dwelt the toiling 

poor. 
Huddled in wretched huts, breathing foul air, 
Living in fetid filth and poverty — 
No childhood's joys, youth prematurely old, 
Manhood a painful struggle but to live. 
And age a weary shifting of the scene ; 



84 The Dawn and the Day, ok 

While all the people drew aside to g-aze 

Upon his g-entle but majestic face, 

Beaming- with tender, all-embracing- love. 

And when the king- and royal train dismount, 

'Mid prostrate people and the stately priests, 

On fragrant flowers that carpeted his way, 

And mount the loft}^ steps to reach the shrine, 

Siddartha came, upon the other side, 

'Mid stalls for victims, sheds for sacred wood. 

And rude attendants on the pompous rites. 

Who seized a goat, the patriarch of the flock. 

And bound him firm with sacred munja grass, 

And bore aloft, while Buddha followed where 

A priest before the blazing- altar stood 

With g-littering- knife, and others fed the fires, 

While clouds of incense from the altar rose. 

Sweeter than Araby the blest can yield. 

And white-robed Brahmans chant their sacred 

hymns. 
And there before that ancient shrine they met. 
The king-, the priests, the hermit from the hill. 
When one, an ag-ed Brahman, raised his hands, 
And praying-, lifted up his voice and cried : 
*' O hear I great Indra, from thy lofty throne 
On Meru's holy mountain, hig-h in heaven. 
Let every g-ood the king- has ever done 
With this sweet incense ming-led rise to thee ; 
And every secret, every open sin 
Be laid upon this g-oat, to sink from sig-ht. 
Drunk by the earth with his hot spouting blood. 
Or on this altar with his flesh be burned." 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book IV. So 

And all the Brahman choir responsive cried : 
" Long" live the king* ! now let the victim die ! " 
But Buddha said : " Let him not strike, O king- ! 
For how can God, being" g'ood, delig^ht in blood ? 
And how can blood wash out the stains of sin. 
And chang"e the fixed eternal law of life 
That g-ood from g'ood, evil from evil flows ? " 
This said, he stooped and loosed the panting- g^oat. 
None staying- him, so g-reat his presence was. 
And then with loving- tenderness he taug-ht 
How sin works out its own sure punishment ; 
How like corroding- rust and eating moth 
It wastes the very substance of the soul ; 
Like poisoned blood it surely, drop by drop, 
Pollutes the very fountain of the life ; 
Like deadly drug- it chang-es into stone 
The living- fibres of a loving- heart ; 
Like fell disease, it breeds within the veins 
The living agents of a living death ; 
And as in gardens overgrown with weeds. 
Nothing but patient labor, day by day, 
Uprooting cherished evils one b}^ one. 
Watering its soil with penitential tears. 
Can fit the soul to grow that precious seed, 
Which taking root, spreads out a grateful shade 
Where gentle thoughts like singing birds may 

lodge, 
Where pure desires like fragrant flowers may bloom, 
And loving acts like ripened fruits may hang-. 
Then, chiding not, with earnest words he urged 
Humanity to man, kindness to beasts. 



8H The Dawn and the Day, or 

Pure words, kind acts, in all our daily walks, 

As better than the blood of lambs and g-oats, 

Better than incense or the chanted hymn, 

To cleanse the heart and please the powers above, 

And fill the world with harmony and peace. 

Till pricked in heart, the priest let fall his knife ; 

The Brahmans listening-, ceased to chant their 

hymns ; 
The king- drank in his words with eag-er ears ; 
And from that day no altar dripped with blood. 
But flowers instead breathed forth their sweet per- 
fumes. 
And when that troubled day drew near its close, 
Joy filled once more that shepherd's humble home. 
From door to door his simple story flew, 
And when the king- entered his palace gates. 
New thoughts were surg-ing in his wakened soul. 

But though the beasts have lairs, the birds have 
nests, 
Buddha had not whereon to lay his head. 
Not even a mountain-cave to call his home ; 
And forth he fared, heedless about his way — 
For every way was now alike to him. 
Heedless of food, his alms-bowl hung unused. 
While all the people stood aside with awe, 
And to their children pointed out the man 
Who plead the shepherd's cause before the king. 
At length he passed the city's western gate. 
And crossed the little plain circling its walls. 
Circled itself by five bold hills that rise, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book IV. 87 

A rug-g-ed rampart and an outer wall. 
Two outer g*ates this mountain rampart had. 
The one a narrow valley opening- west 
Toward Gaya, throug-h the red Barabar hills, 
Throug'h which the rapid Phalg-u swiftly g-lides, 
Down from the Vindhya mountains far away, 
Then g-ently winds around this fruitful plain. 
Its surface g-reen with floating* lotus leaves. 
And brig-ht with lotus blossoms, blue and white, 
O'erhung- with drooping trees and trailing vines. 
Till through the eastern gate it hastens on, 
To lose itself in Gunga's sacred stream. 

Toward Gaya now Siddartha bent his steps. 
Distant the journey of a single day 
As men marked distance in those ancient times, 
No longer heeded in this headlong age, 
When we count moments by the miles we pass ; 
And one may see the sun sink out of sight 
Behind great banks of gray and wintry clouds, 
While feathery snowflakes fill the frosty air. 
And after quiet sleep may wake next day 
To see it bathe green fields with floods of light, 
And dry the sparkling dew from opening flowers. 
And hear the joyful burst of vernal song. 
And breathe the balmy air of opening spring. 

And as he went, weary and faint and sad, 
The valley opening showed a pleasant grove. 
Where many trees mingled their grateful shade, 
And many blossoms blended sweet perfumes ; 



88 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And there, under a drooping- vakul-tree, 
A bower of roses and sweet jasmine vines, 
Within a couch, without a banquet spread, 
While near a fountain with its falling spray 
Ruffled the surface of a shining- pool, 
Whose liquid cadence ming-led with the songs 
Of many birds concealed among- the trees. 

And there three seeming- sister g-races were,* 
Fair as young Venus rising from the sea. 
The one in seeming childlike innocence 
Bathed in the pool, while her low liquid laugh 
Rung sweet and clear ; and one her vina tuned, 
And as she played, the other lightly danced, 
Clapping her hands, tinkling her silver bells. 
Whose gauzy silken garments seemed to show 
Rather than hide her slender, graceful limbs. 
And she who played the vina sweetly sang : 

*' Come to our bower and take your rest — 
Life is a weary road at best. 
Eat, for your board is richly spread ; 
Drink, for your wine is sparkling red : 
Rest, for the weary day is past ; 
Sleep, for the shadows gather fast. 
Tune not your vina-strings too high, 
Strained they will break and the music die. 
Come to our bower and take your rest — 
Life is a weary road at best." 

'•' Mara dispatched three pleasure-girls from the north quarter to 
come and tempt him. Their names were Tanha, Rati and Ranga. 
Fa Hian (Beal), p. 120. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book IV. 89 

But Buddha, full of pity, passing- said : 
*' Alas, poor soul ! flitting- a little while 
Like painted butterflies before the lamp 
That soon will burn your wing-s ; like silly doves, 
Calling- the cruel kite to seize and kill ; 
Displaying- lig-hts to be the robber's g-uide ; 
Enticing- men to wrong, who soon despise. 
Ah ! poor, perverted, cold and cruel world ! 
Delig-hts of love become the lures of lust, 
The joys of heaven chang-ed into fires of hell." 



BOOK Y 



Now mig-hty Mara, spirit of the air, 

The prince of darkness, ruling- worlds below, 

Had watched for Buddha all these weary years, 

Seeking- to lead his steady steps astra}^ 

By many wiles his wicked wit devised, 

Lest he at length should find the living- light 

And rescue millions from his dark domains. 

Now, showing- him the king-doms of the world. 

He offered him the Chakravartin's crown ; 

Now, opening seas of knowledg-e, shoreless, vast, 

Knowledg-e of ag-es past and yet to come. 

Knowledge of nature and the hidden laws 

That g-uide her chang-es, guide the rolling- spheres, 

Sakwal on sakwal,* boundless, infinite, 

Yet ever moving on in harmony. 

He thoug-ht to puff his spirit up with pride 

Till he should quite forget a suffering- world. 

In sin and sorrow g-roping- blindly on. 

'^ A sakwal was a sun with its system of worlds, which the ancient 
Hindoos believed extended one beyond another throug-h infinite space. 
It indicates great advance in astronomical knowledge when such a com- 
plex idea, now universally received as true, as that the fixed stars are 
suns with systems of worlds like ours, could be expressed in a single 
word. 

(90) 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book V. 



91 



But when he saw that lust of power moved not, 
And thirst for knowledg-e turned him not aside 
From earnest search after the living- lig-ht, 
From tender love for every living- thing-, 
He sent the tempters Doubt and dark Despair. 
And as he watched for final victory 
He saw that lig-ht flash through the silent cave. 
And heard the Buddha breathe that earnest prayer, 
And fled amazed, nor dared to look behind. 
For thoug-h to Buddha all his way seemed dark, 
His wily enemy could see a Power, 
A mig-hty Power, that ever hovered near, 
A present help in every time of need, 
When sinking- souls seek earnestly for aid. 
He fled, indeed, as flies the prowling wolf, 
Alarmed at watch-dog-'s bark or shepherd's voice, 
While seeking- entrance to the slumbering fold. 
But soon returns with soft and stealthy step, 
With keenest scent snuf&ng the passing- breeze, 
With ears erect catching- each slightest sound. 
With g:laring eyes watching- each moving- thing;, 
With hung-ry jaws, skulking- about the fold 
Till coming- dawn drives him to seek his lair. 
So Mara fled, and so he soon returned, 
And thus he watched the Buddha's every step ; 
Saw him with gentleness quell haug-hty power ; 
Saw him with tenderness raise up the weak ; 
Heard him before the Brahmans and the king- 
Denounce those bloody rites ordained by him ; 
Heard him declare the deadly work of Sin, 
His own prime minister and eldest-born ; 



92 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Heard him proclaim the mig-hty power of Love 
To cleanse the life and make the flinty heart 
As soft as sinews of the new-born babe. 
And when he saw whither he bent his steps, 
He sent three wrinkled hag-s, deformed and foul. 
The willing- agents of his wicked will — 
L/ife-wasting Idleness, the thief of time ; 
Lascivious Lust, whose ver}- touch defiles. 
Poisoning the blood, polluting all within ; 
And greedy Gluttony, most gross of all, 
Whose ravening maw forever asks for more — 
To that delightful garden near his way. 
To tempt the Master, their true forms concealed — 
For who so gross that such coarse hags could 

tempt ? — 
But clothed instead in youthful beauty's grace. 
And now he saw him pass unmoved by lust. 
Nor yet with cold, self-righteous pride puffed up, 
But breathing pity from his inmost soul 
E'en for the ministers of vice themselves. 

Defeated, not discouraged, still he thought 
To try one last device, for well he knew 
That Buddha's steps approached the sacred tree 
Where light would dawn and all his power would 

end. 
Upon a seat beside the shaded path, 
A seeming aged Brahman, Mara sat, 
And when the prince approached, his tempter rose,. 
Saluting him with gentle stateliness, 
Saluted in return with equal grace. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book V. 93 

"Whither away, my son?" the tempter said, 
*' If you to Gaya now direct your steps, 
Perhaps your youth may cheer my lonely ag-e." 
" I go to seek for light," the prince replied, 
*' But where it matters not, so light be found." 

But Mara answered him : "Your search is vain. 
Why seek to know more than the Vedas teach ? 
Why seek to learn more than the teachers know ? 
But such is youth ; the rosy tints of dawn 
Tinge all his thoughts. ' Excelsior ! ' he cries, 
And fain would scale the unsubstantial clouds 
To find a light that knows no night, no change ; 
We Brahmans chant our hymns in solemn wise. 
The vulgar listen with profoundest awe ; 
But still our muffled heart-throbs beat the march 
Onward, forever onward, to the grave. 
When one ahead cries, ' Lo ! I see a light !' 
And others clutch his garments, following on 
Till all in starless darkness disappear. 
There may be day beyond this starless night. 
There may be life beyond this dark profound — 
But who has ever seen that changeless day ? 
What steps have e'er retraced that silent road ? 
Fables there are, hallowed by hoary age. 
Fables and ancient creeds, that men have made 
To give them power with ignorance and fear ; 
Fables of gods with human passions filled ; 
Fables of men who walked and talked with gods ; 
Fables of kalpas passed, when Brahma slept 
And all created things were wrapped in flames, 



94 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And then the floods descended, chaos reig-ned, 

The world a waste of waters, and the heavens 

A sunless void, until again he wakes. 

And sun and moon and stars resume their rounds, 

Oceans receding* show the mountain-tops, 

And then the hills and spreading- plains — 

Strange fables all, that crafty men have feigned. 

Why waste your time pursuing such vain dreams — 

As some benighted travelers chase false lights 

To lose themselves in bogs and fens at last ? 

But read instead in Nature's open book 

How light from darkness grew by slow degrees ; 

How crawling worms grew into light-winged birds, 

Acquiring sweetest notes and gayest plumes ; 

How lowly ferns grew into lofty palms ; 

How men have made themselves from chattering 

apes ;* 
How, even from protoplasm to highest bard. 
Selecting and rejecting, mind has grown 
Until at length all secrets are unlocked. 
And man himself now stands pre-eminent. 
Maker and master of his own great self. 
To sneer at all his lisping childlike past 
And laugh at all his fathers had revered." 

The prince with gentle earnestness replied : 
" Full well I know how blindly we grope on 

'•"It may seem like an anachronism to put the very words of the 
modern agnostic into the mouth of Buddha's tempter, but these men are 
merely threshing- over old straw. The sneer of Epicurus curled the lip 
of Voltaire, and now merely breaks out into a broad laugh on the 
g-ood-natured face of Ingersoll. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book V. 95 

In doubt and fear and ignorance profound, 

The wisdom of the past a book now sealed. 

But why despise what ag*es have revered ? 

As some rude plowman casts on rubbish-heaps 

The rusty casket that his share reveals, 

Not knowing- that within it are concealed 

Most precious g-ems, to make him rich indeed, 

The hand that hid them from the robber, cold. 

The key that locked this rusty casket, lost. 

The past was wise, else whence that wondrous 

tong-ue * 
That we call sacred, which the learned speak, 
Now passing out of use as too refined 
For this rude age, too smooth for our rough tongues. 
Too rich and delicate for our coarse thoughts. 
Why should such men make fables so absurd 
Unless within their rough outside is stored 
Some precious truth from profanation hid ? 
Revere your own, revile no other faith. 
Lest with the casket you reject the gems, 
Or with rough hulls reject the living seed. 
Doubtless in nature changes have been wrought 
That speak of ages in the distant past. 
Whose contemplation fills the mind with awe. 
The smooth-worn pebbles on the highest hills 
Speak of an ocean sweeping o'er their tops ; 
The giant palms, now changed to solid rocks, 



* The Sanscrit, the most perfect of all languages, and the mother of 
Greek and of all the lang-uag-es of the Aryan races, now spread over the 
world, had gone out of use in Buddha's time, and the Pali, one of its 
earliest offspring, was used by the great teacher and his people. 



96 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Speak of the wonders of a buried world. 
Why seek to solve the riddle nature puts, 
Of whence and why, with theories and dreams ? 
The crawling- worm proclaims its Maker's power ; 
The sing-ing- bird proclaims its Maker's skill ; 
The mind of man proclaims a g-reater Mind, 
Whose will makes world, whose thoug-hts are living- 
acts. 
Our every heart-throb speaks of present power. 
Preserving-, recreating-, day by day. 
Better confess how little we can know. 
Better with feet unshod and humble awe 
Approach this living- Power to ask for aid." 
And as he spoke the devas filled the air. 
Unseen, unheard of men, and sweetly sung- : 
*' Hail, prince of peace ! hail, harbing-er of day ! 
The darkness vanishes, the lig-ht appears." 
But Mara heard, and silent slunk away. 
The o'erwroug-ht prince fell prostrate on the 

g-round 
And lay entranced, while devas hovered near, 
Watching- each heart-throb, breathing- that sweet 

calm 
Its g-uardian ang-el gives the sleeping- child. 

The nig-ht has passed, the day-star fades from 

sig-ht. 
And morning's softest tint of rose and g-old 
Tinges the east and tips the mountain-tops. 
The silent villag-e stirs with waking- life. 
The bleat of goats and low of distant herds. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book V. 97 

The song" of birds and crow of jung-le-cocks 
Breathe softest music throug-h the dewy air. 

A.nd now two g-irls,* just g-rown to womanhood, 
The lovely daug"hters of the villag'e lord, 
Trapusha one, and one Balika called, 
Up with the dawn, trip lig-htly o'er the g*rass, 
Bring-ing- rich curds and rice picked g-rain by g"rain, 
A willing offering- to their g"uardian g"od — 
Who dwelt, as all the simple folk believed, 
Beneath an ag-ed bodhi-tree that stood 
Beside the path and near where Buddha lay — 
To ask such husbands as their fancies paint, 
Gentle and strong-, and noble, true and brave ; 
And having- left their g-ifts and made their vows, 
With timid steps the maidens stole away. 

But while the outer world is filled with life, 
That inner world from whence this life proceeds. 
Concealed from sig-ht by matter's blinding- folds. 
Whose coarser currents fill with wondrous power 
The nervous fluid of the universe 
Which darts throug-h nature's frame, from star to 

star. 
From cloud to cloud, filling- the world with awe ; 
Now harnessed to our use, a patient drudg-e. 
Heedless of time or space, bears human thoug-ht 

'•' Arnold follows the tradition that there was but one, whom he 
makes a young- wife, without any authority so far as I can learn. I 
prefer to follow the Chinese pilgrim, Fa Hian, who was on the ground 
with every means of knowing, who makes them two young- girls, and 
named as above. 



98 The Dawn and the Day, or 

From land to land and throug-h the ocean's depths ; 
And bears the softest tones of human speech 
Faster than lig"ht, farther than ocean sounds ; 
And whirls the clattering- car throug-h crowded 

streets, 
And floods with light the haunts of prowling- 

thieves — 
That inner world, whose very life is love, 
Pure love, and perfect, infinite, intense, 
That world is now astir. A rift appears 
In those dark clouds that rise from sinful souls 
And hide from us its clear celestial lig-ht, 
And clouds of messeng-ers from that bright world. 
Whom they called devas and we angels call, 
Rush to that rift to rescue and to save. 
The wind from their bright wings fanned Buddha's 

soul, 
The love from their sweet spirits warmed his heart. 
He starts from sleep, but rising, scarcely knows 
If he had seen a vision while awake. 
Or, sunk in sleep, had dreamed a heavenly dream. 
From that pure presence all his tempters fled. 
The calm of conflict ended filled his soul. 
And led by unseen hands he forward passed 
To where the sacred fig-tree long had grown, 
Beneath whose shade the village altar stood. 
Where simple folk would place their willing gifts, 
And ask the aid their simple wants required. 
Believing all the life above, around, 
The life within themselves, must surely come 
From living powers that ever hovered near. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book V. 99 

Here lay the food Sag-ata's daug^hters broug-ht, 
The choicest products of his herds and fields. 
This g^rateful food met nature's every need, 
Diffused a healthful glow throug-h all his frame, 
And all the body's eag^er yearning's stilled. 
Seven days he sat, and ate no more nor drank, 
Yet hungered not, nor burned with parching- thirst, 
For heavenly manna fed his hung-ry soul — 
Its wants were satisfied, the body's ceased. 
Seven days he sat, in sweet internal peace 
Waiting- for lig-ht, and sure that lig-ht would come, 
When seeming- scales fell from his inner sig-ht. 
His spirit's eyes were opened and he saw 
Not far away, but near, within, above. 
As dwells the soul within this mortal frame, 
A world within this workday world of ours. 
The living soul of all material things. 

Eastward he saw a never-setting Sun, 
Whose light is truth, the light of all the worlds, 
Whose heat is tender, all-embracing love. 
The inmost Life of everything that lives. 
The mighty Prototype and primal Cause 
Of all the suns that light this universe, 
From ours, full-orbed, that tints the glowing east 
And paints the west a thousand varied shades. 
To that far distant little twinkling star 
That seems no larger than the glow-worm's lamp, 
Itself a sun to light such worlds as ours ; 
And round about Him clouds of living light, 
Bright clouds of cherubim and seraphim. 



100 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Who sing* His praise and execute His will — 
Not idly sing-ing-, as the foolish feig-n, 
But voicing- forth their joy they work and sing" ; 
Doing- His will, their works sound forth His praise. 

On every side were fields of living- g-reen, 
With g-ardens, g-roves and g-ently rising- hills, 
Where crystal streams of living- waters flow, 
And dim with distance Meru's lofty heig-hts. 
No desert sands, no mountains crowned with ice, 
For here the scorching- simoom never blows. 
Nor wintry winds, that pierce and freeze and kill, 
But g-entle breezes breathing- sweet perfumes ; 
No weeds, no thorns, no bitter poisonous fruits. 
No noxious reptiles and no prowling- beasts ; 
For in this world of innocence and love 
No evil thoug-hts g-ive birth to evil thing-s. 
But many birds of every varied plume 
Delig-ht the ear with sweetest melody ; 
And many flowers of every varied tint 
Fill all the air with odors rich and sweet ; 
And many fruits, suited to every taste, 
Hang- ripe and ready that who will may eat — 
A world of life, with all its lig-hts and shades. 
The brig-ht orig-inal of our sad world 
Without its sin and storms, its thorns and tears. 
No Lethe's slug-g-ish waters lave its shores. 
Nor solemn shades, of poet's fancy bred, 
Sit idly here to boast of battles past, 
Nor wailing- g-hosts wring- here their shadowy hands 
For lack of honor to their cast-off dust ; 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book V, 



101 



But living- men, in human bodies clothed — 
Not bodies made of matter, dull and coarse, 
Dust from the dust and soon to dust returned, 
But living- bodies, clothing- living souls, 
Bodies responsive to the spirit's will. 
Clothing- in acts the spirit's inmost thoug-hts — 
Dwell here in many mansions, lar^e and fair, 
Stretching- beyond the keenest vision's ken, 
With room for each and more than room for all. 
Forever filling- and yet never full. 
Not clog-g-ed by matter, fast as fleetest birds, 
Wishing- to g-o, they go ; to come, they come. 
No helpless infancy or palsied ag-e, 
But all in early manhood's youthful bloom, 
The old g:rown young-, the child to man's estate. 
Gentle they seemed as they passed to and fro. 
Gentle and strong-, with every manly grace ; 
Busy as bees in summer's sunny hours, 
In works of usefulness and acts of love ; 
No pinching poverty or grasping greed, 
Gladly receiving, they more gladly give, 
Sharing in peace the bounties free to all. 

As lost in wonder and delight he gazed. 
He saw approaching from a pleasant grove 
Two noble youths, yet full of gentleness, 
Attending one from sole to crown a queen. 
With every charm of fresh and blooming youth 
And every grace of early womanhood. 
Her face the mirror of her gentle soul. 
Her flowing robes finer than softest silk, 



102 The Dawn and the Day, or 

That as she moved seemed woven of the lig-ht ; 

Not borne by clumsy wings, or labored steps, 

She g-lided on as if her will had wing's 

That bore her willing- body where she wished. 

As she approached, close by her side he saw, 

As through a veil or thin transparent mist. 

The form and features of the aged king, 

Older and frailer by six troubled years 

Than when they parted, yet his very face. 

Whom she was watching with the tenderest care. 

And nearer seen each seeming youth was two. 

As when at first in Eden's happy shade 

Our primal parents ere the tempter came 

Were twain, and yet but one, so on they come. 

Hand joined in hand, heart beating close to heart. 

One will their guide and sharing every thought. 

Beaming with tender, all-embracing love. 

Whom God had joined and death had failed to part. 

What need of words to introduce his guests ? 
Love knows her own, the mother greets her son. 
Her parents and the king's, who long had watched 
Their common offspring with a constant care. 
Inspiring hope and breathing inward peace 
When secret foes assailed on every side, 
Now saw him burst the clouds that veiled their view 
And stand triumphant full before their eyes. 
O happy meeting ! joy profound, complete ! 
Soul greeting soul, heart speaking straight to heart. 
While countless happy faces hovered near 
And songs of joy sound through Nirvana's heights. 



Thk Buddha and the Christ — Book V. 103 

At leng-th, the transports of first meeting- past, 
More of this new-found world he wished to see, 
More of its peace and joy he wished to know. 
Led by his loving" g*uides, enwrapt he saw 
Such scenes of beauty passing- human speech, 
Such scenes of peace and joy past human thoug-ht, 
That he who sings must tune a heavenly lyre 
And seraphs touch his lips with living- fire. 
My unanointed lips will not presume 
To try such lofty themes, glad if I gain 
A distant prospect of the promised land, 
And catch some g-limpses throug-h the g-ates ajar. 
Long- time he wandered throug-h these blissful 

scenes. 
Time measured by succession of delights. 
Till wearied by excess of very joy 
Both soul and body sunk in tranquil sleep. 
He slept while hosts of devas sweetly sung- : 
*'Hail, g-reat physician ! savior, lover, friend ! 
Joy of the worlds, guide to Nirvana, hail ! " 
From whose brig-ht presence Mara's myriads fled. 
But Mara's self, subtlest of all, fled not, 
But putting- on a seeming- yog-i's form. 
Wasted, as if by fasts, to skin and bone, 
On one foot standing-, rooted to the g-round. 
The other raised ag-ainst his fleshless thigh, 
Hands stretched aloft till joints had lost their use. 
And clinched so close, as if in firm resolve. 
The nails had g-rown quite throug-h the festering- 
palms,* 

'•■•Bishop Heber says he saw a recluse whose hands had been clinched 
so close and so long- that the nails had actually grown through the 
hands as here described. 



104 The Dawn and the Day, or 

His tattered robes, as if worn out by age, 
Hanging like moss from trees decayed and dead, 
While birds were nesting in his tangled hair. 
And thus disguised the subtle Mara stood. 
And when the master roused him from his sleep 
His tempter cried in seeming ecstasy : 
*' O ! happy wakening ! joy succeeding grief ! 
Peace after trouble ! rest that knows no end ! 
Life after death ! Nirvana found at last ! 
Here let us wait till wasted by decay 
The body's worn-out fetters drop away." 

" Much suffering brother, " Buddha answered him, 
" The weary traveler, wandering through the night 
In doubt and darkness, gladly sees the dawn. 
The storm-tossed sailor on the troubled sea. 
Wearied and drenched, with joy re-enters port. 
But other nights succeed that happy dawn, 
And other seas may toss that sailor's bark. 
But he who sees Nirvana's sacred Sun, 
And in Nirvana's haven furls his sails, 
No more shall wander through the starless night, 
No more shall battle with the winds and waves. 
O joy of joys ! our eyes have seen that Sun ! 
Our sails have almost reached that sheltering port. 
But shall we, joyful at our own escape, 
Leave our poor brothers battling with the storm, 
Sails rent, barks leaking, helm and compass lost. 
No light to guide, no hope to cheer them on ? " 

" Each for himself must seek, as we have sought," 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book V. 



105 



The tempter said, '' and each must climb alone 
The rug-ged path our weary feet have trod. 
No royal road leads to Nirvana's rest ; 
No royal captain guides his army there. 
Why leave the heights with so much labor gained ? 
Why plunge in darkness we have just escaped ? 
Men will not heed the message we may bring. 
The great will scorn, the rabble will deride,* 
And cry ' He hath a devil and is mad.' " 

" True," answered Buddha, " each must seek to 
find ; 

Each for himself must leave the downward road ; 

Each for himself must choose the narrow path 

That leads to purity and peace and life. 

But helping- hands will aid those strugg-ling up ; 

A warning voice may check those hasting down. 

Men are like lilies in yon shining pool : 

Some sunk in evil grovel in the dust, 

Loving- like swine to wallow in the mire — 
Like those that grow within its silent depths. 
Scarce raised above its black and oozy bed ; 
While some love good, and seek the purest lig-ht, 
Breathing sweet fragrance from their gentle lives — 
Like those that rise above its glassy face, 
Sparkling with dewdrops, royally arrayed, 
Drinking the brightness of the morning- sun, 
Distilling odors throug-h the balmy air ; 
But countless multitudes grope blindly on, 

-The last tempiaiion of Buddha was to keep his light to himself 
under the fear that men would reject his message. 



106 The Dawn and the Day. 

Shut out from lig-ht and crushed by cruel castes, 
Willing- to learn, whom none will deig-n to teach, 
Willing- to rise, whom none will deig-n to g-uide. 
Who from the cradle to the silent g-rave, 
Helpless and hopeless, only toil and weep — 
Like those that on the stag-nant waters float, 
Smothered with leaves, covered with ropy slime, 
That from the rosy dawn to dewy eve 
Scarce catch one g-limmer of the g-lorious sun. 
The g-ood scarce need, the bad will scorn, my aid ; 
But these poor souls will g-ladly welcome help. 
Welcome to me the scorn of rich and g-reat, 
Welcome the Brahman's proud and cold disdain. 
Welcome reviling-s from the rabble rout, 
If I can lead some g-roping- souls to light — 
If I can g-ive some weary spirits rest. 
Farewell, my brother, you have earned release — 
Rest here in peace. I g-o to aid the poor." 
And as he spoke a flash of lurid lig-ht 
Shot throug-hthe air, and Buddha stood alone — 
Alone ! to teach the warring- nations peace ! 
Alone ! to lead a g-roping- world to lig-ht ! 
Alone ! to g-ive the heavy-laden rest ! 



BOOK VI 



Sevkn days had passed since first he saw the lig"ht, 

Seven days of deep, ecstatic peace and joy, 

Of open vision of that blissful world, 

Of sweet communion with those dwelling- there. 

But having- tasted, seen and felt the joys 

Of that brig-ht world where love is all in all, 

Filling- each heart, inspiring- every thought, 

Guiding- each will and prompting- every act. 

He yearned to see the other, darker side 

Of that bright picture, where the wars and hates. 

The lust, the greed, the cruelty and crime 

That fill the world with pain and want and woe 

Have found their dwelling-place and final goal. 

Quicker than eag-les soaring- toward the sun 
Till but a speck ag-ainst the azure vault 
Swoop down upon their unsuspecting- prey. 
Quicker than watch-fires on the mountain-top 
Send warnings to the dwellers in the plain, 
Led by his g-uides he reached Nirvana's verg-e, 
Whence he beheld a broad and pleasant plain. 
Spread with a carpet of the richest g-reen 
And decked with flowers of every varied tint, 

(107) 



108 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Whose blended odors fill the balm}^ air, 

Where trees, pleasant to sig-ht and g-ood for food,. 

In rich abundance and spontaneous g^row. 

A living- stream, as purest crystal clear. 

With gentle murmurs wound along the plain, 

Its surface bright with fairer lotus-flowers 

Than mortal eye on earth had ever seen, 

While on its banks were cool, umbrageous groves 

Whose drooping branches spicy breezes stir, 

A singing bird in every waving bough, 

Whose joyful notes the soul of music shed. 

A mighty multitude, beyond the power 
Of men to number, moved about the plain ; 
Some, seeming strangers, wander through the 

groves 
And pluck the flowers or eat the luscious fruits ; 
Some, seeming visitors from better worlds. 
Here wait and watch as for expected guests ; 
While angel devas, clothed in innocence, 
Whose faces beam with wisdom, glow with love, 
With loving welcomes greet each coming guest. 
With loving counsels aid, instruct and guide. 
And as he looked, the countless, restless throng 
Seemed ever changing, ever moving on, 
So that this plain, comparing great to small, 
Seemed like a station near some royal town. 
Greater than London or old Bab3^1on, 
Where all the roads from some vast empire meet, 
And many caravans or sweeping trains 
Bring and remove the ever-changing throng. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. 109 

This plain a valley bordered, deep and still, 
The very valley of his fearful dream 
Seen from the other side, whose rising- mists 
Were all ag-low with ever-chang-ing- lig"ht. 
Like passing- clouds above the setting- sun, 
Throug-h which as throug-h a g-lass he darkly saw 
Unnumbered funeral-trains, in sable clad. 
To solemn music and with measured tread 
Bearing- their dead to countless funeral-piles, 
As thick as heaps that throug-h the livelong- day 
With patient toil the sturdy woodmen rear, 
While clearing- forests for the g-olden g-rain. 
And set aflame when evening-'s shades descend, 
Filling- the g-lowing- woods with floods of lig-ht 
And g-hostly shadows : So these funeral-piles 
Send up their curling- smoke and crackling- flames. 

There eag-er flames devour an infant's flesh ; 
Here loving- arms that risen infant clasp ; 
There loud laments bewail a loved one lost ; 
Here joyful welcomes g-reet that loved one found. 
And there he saw a pompous funeral-train. 
Bearing- a body clothed in robes of state. 
To blare of trumpet, sound of shell and drum. 
While many mourners bow in silent g'rief, 
And widows, orphans raise a loud lament 
As for a father, a protector lost ; 
And as the flames lick up the frag-rant oils. 
And whirl and hiss around that wasting- form, 
An eag-er watcher from a better world 
Welcomes her husband to her open arms, 



110 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The cumbrous load of pomp and power cast off, 
While waiting- devas and the happy throng- 
His power protected and his bounty blessed 
With joy conduct his unaccustomed steps 
Onward and upward, to those blissful seats 
Where all his stores of duties well performed, 
Of power well used and wealth in kindness g-iven, 
Were g-arnered up beyond the reach of thieves, 
Where moths ne'er eat and rust can ne'er corrupt. 

Another train draws near a funeral-pile, 
Of aloes, sandal-wood and cassia built, 
And drenched with every' incense-breathing- oil. 
And draped with silks and rich with rarest flowers, 
Where grim officials clothed in robes of state 
Placed one in royal purple, decked with gems, 
Whose word had been a trembling- nation's law, 
Whose ang-ry nod was death to hig-h or low. 
No mourners g-ather round this costly pile ; 
The people shrink in terror from the sig-ht. 
But sullen soldiers there keep watch and ward 
While eag-er flames consume those nerveless hands 
So often raised to threaten or command, 
Suck out those eyes that filled the court with fear, 
And only left of all this royal pomp 
A little dust the winds may blow away. 

But here that selfsame monarch comes in view, 
For royal purple clothed in filthy rag-s. 
And lusterless that crown of priceless g-ems ; 
Those eyes, whose bend so lately awed the world. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. Ill 

Blinking- and bleared and blinded by the light ; 
Those hands, that late a royal scepter bore, 
Shaking- with fear and dripping- all with blood. 
And as he looked that some should g-ive him place 
And lead him to a seat for monarchs fit, 
He only saw a g-roup of innocents 
His hands had slain, now clothed in spotless white. 
From whom he fled as if by furies chased, 
Fled from those g-roves and g-ardens of delig-ht, 
Fled on and down a broad and beaten road 
By many trod, and toward a desert waste 
With distance dim, and g-loomy, g-rim and vast. 
Where piercing- thorns and leafless briars grow, 
And dead sea-apples, ashes to the taste. 
Where loathsome reptiles crawl and hiss and sting-, 
And birds of nig-ht and bat-winged dragons fly, 
Where beetling cliffs seem threatening instant fall, 
And opening chasms seem yawning to devour, 
And sulphurous seas were swept with lurid flames 
That seethe and boil from hidden fires below. 



Again he saw, beyond that silent vale. 
One frail and old, without a rich man's gate 
Laid down to die beneath a peepul-tree, 
And parched with thirst and pierced with sudden 

pain, 
A root his pillow and the earth his bed ; 
Alone he met the King of terrors there ; 
Whose wasting body, cumbering now the ground, 
Chandalas cast upon the passing stream 
To float and fester in the fiery sun, 



112 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Till whirled by eddies, caug-ht by roots, it lay 
A prey for vultures and for fishes food. 

That selfsame day a dart of deadly pain 
Shot throug-h that rich man's hard, unfeeling^ 

heart, 
That laid him low, beyond the power to save, 
E'en while his servants cast without his gates 
That poor old man, who came to beg- him spare 
His roof-tree, where his fathers all had died, 
His hearth, the shrine of all his inmost joys, 
His little home, to every heart so dear ; 
And in due season tong-ues of hissing- flames 
That rich man's robes like snowflakes whirled in 

air. 
And curled his crackling skin, consumed his flesh. 
And sucked the marrow from his whitened bones. 

But here these two their places seem to chang-e. 
That rich man's houses, lands, and flocks and herds, 
His servants, rich apparel, stores of g-old. 
And all he loved and lived for left behind. 
The friends that nature g-ave him turned to foes, 
Dependents whom his greed had wronged and 

crushed 
Shrinking away as from a deadly foe ; 
No generous wish, no gentle, tender thoug-ht 
To hide his nakedness, his shriveled soul 
Stood stark and bare, the gaze of passers-by ; 
Nothing within to draw him on and up. 
He slinks away, and wanders on and down. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. 113 

Till in the desert, groveling- in the dust, 

He dig-s and burrows, seeking treasures there — 

While that poor man, as we count poverty, 

Is rich in all that makes the spirit's wealth, 

His heart so pure that thoughts of guile 

And evil purpose find no lodgment there ; 

His life so innocent that bitter words 

And evil-speaking ne'er escape his lips ; 

The little that he had he freely shared. 

And wished it more that more he might have given ; 

Now rich in soul — for here a crust of bread 

In kindness shared, a cup of water given, 

Is worth far more than all Potosi's mines, 

And Araby's perfumes and India's silks, 

And all the cattle on a thousand hills — 

And clothed as with a robe of innocence 

The devas welcome him, his troubles passed, 

The conflict ended and the triumph gained. 

And there two Brahmans press their funeral-pile, 
And sink to dust amid the whirling flames. 
Kach from his lisping infancy had heard 
That Brahmans were a high and holy caste. 
Too high and holy for the common touch. 
And each had learned the Vedas' sacred lore. 
But here they parted. One was cold and proud, 
Drawing away from all the humbler castes 
As made to toil, and only fit to serve. 
The other found within those sacred books 
That all were brothers, made of common clay. 
And filled with life from one eternal source. 



114 The Dawn and the Day, or 

While Brahmans only elder brothers were, 
With greater light to be his brother's guide, 
With greater strength to give his brother aid ; 
That he alone a real Brahman was 
Who had a Brahman's spirit, not his blood. 
With patient toil from youth to hoary age 
He taught the ignorant and helped the weak. 
And now they come where all external pomp 
And rank and caste and creed are nothing worth. 
But when that proud and haughty Brahman saw 
Poor Sudras and Chandalas clothed in white. 
He swept away with proud and haughty scorn. 
Swept on and down where heartless selfishness 
Alone can find congenial company. 
The other, full of joy, his brothers met. 
And in sweet harmony the}^ journeyed on 
Where higher joys await the pure in heart. 

And there he saw all ranks and grades and castes, 
Chandala, Sudra, warrior, Brahman, prince. 
The wise and ignorant, the strong and weak. 
In all the stages of our mortal round 
From lisping infancy to palsied age. 
By all the ways to human frailty known. 
Enter that vale of shadows, deep and still, 
Leaving behind their pomp and power and wealth, 
Leaving their rags and wretchedness and want. 
And cast-off bodies, dust to dust returned. 
By flames consumed or moldering to decay. 
While here the real character appeared, 
All shows, hypocrisies and shams cast off, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. 115 

So that a life of g-entleness and love 

Shines through the face and molds the outer form 

To living- beauty, blooming- not to fade, 

While every act of cruelty and crime 

Seems like a g-ang-rened ever-widening- wound, 

Wasting- the very substance of the soul, 

Marring its beauty, eating out its strength. 

And here arrived, the good, in little groups 
Together drawn by inward sympathy. 
And led by devas, take the upward way 
To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, 
Those ever-widening mansions of delight ; 
While those poor souls — O sad and fearful sight ! — 
The very well-springs of the life corrupt, 
Shrink from the light and shun the pure and good, 
Fly from the devas, who with perfect love 
Would gladly soothe their anguish, ease their pain. 
Fly on and down that broad and beaten road, 
Till in the distance in the darkness lost. 
Lost ! lost ! and must it be forever lost ? 
The gentle Buddha's all-embracing love 
Shrunk from the thought, but rather sought relief 
In that most ancient faith by sages taught, 
That these poor souls at length may find escape. 
The grasping in the gross and greedy swine, 
The cunning in the sly and prowling fox, 
The cruel in some ravening beast of prey ; 
While those less hardened, less depraved, may gain 



116 The Dawn and the Day. 

Rebirth in men, degraded, groveling-, base.* 

But here in sadness let us drop the v^eil, 
Hoping that He whose ways are not like ours, 
Whose love embraces all His handiwork, 
Who in beg-inning-s sees the final end, 
May find some way to save these sinful souls 
Consistent with His fixed eternal law 
That g-ood from g-ood, evil from evil flows. 

Here Buddha saw the mystery of life 
At last unfolded to its hidden depths. 
He saw that selfishness was sorrow's root. 
And ig-norance its dense and deadly shade ; 
He saw that selfishness bred lust and hate. 
Deformed the features, and defiled the soul 
And closed its windows to those waves of love 
That flow perennial from Nirvana's Sun. 
He saw that g-roveling lusts and base desires 
Like noxious weeds unchecked luxurious g^row. 
Making- a tang-led jung-le of the soul, 
Where no good seed can find a place to root, 
Where noble purposes and pure desires 
And gentle thoug-hts wither and fade and die 
Like flowers beneath the deadly upas-tree. 
He saw that selfishness bred g-rasping- greed, 
And made the miser, made the prowling- thief. 
And bred hypocrisy, pretense, deceit, 



':" The later Buddhists make much of the doctrine of metempsychosis, 
but in the undoubted sayings and Sutras or sermons of Buddha I find 
no mention of it except in this way as the last hope of those who per- 
sist through life in evil, while the good after death reach the other shore, 
or Nirvana, where there is no more birth or death. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. 117 

And made the big-ot, made the faithless priest, 

Bred ang-er, cruelty, and thirst for blood. 

And made the tyrant, stained the murderer's knife, 

And filled the world with war and want and woe, 

And filled the dismal regions of the lost 

With fiery flames of passions never quenched, 

With sounds of discord, sounds of clanking- chains, 

With cries of anguish, howls of bitter hate, 

Yet saw that man was free — not bound and 

chained* 
Helpless and hopeless to a whirling wheel. 
Rolled on resistless by some cruel power, 
Regardless of their cries and prayers and tears — 
Free to resist those gross and groveling lusts, 
Free to obey Nirvana's law of love, 
The law of order — primal, highest law — 
Which guides the great Artificer himself. 
Who weaves the garments of the joyful spring, 
Who paints the glories of the passing clouds. 
Who tunes the music of the rolling spheres, 
Guided by love in all His mighty works. 
Filling with love the humblest willing heart. 

He saw that love softens and sweetens life. 
And stills the passions, soothes the troubled breast. 
Fills homes with joy and gives the nations peace. 



•This great and fundamental truth, lying as the basis of human 
action and responsibility, was recognized by Homer, who makes Jupiter 
say : 

" Perverse mankind, whose wills created free, 
Charg-e all their woes to absolute decree." 

Odyssey, Book I, lines 41 and 4^ 



118 The Dawn and the Day, or 

A sovereig-n balm for all the spirit's wounds, 

The living- fountain of Nirvana's bliss ; 

For here before his eyes were countless souls, 

Born to the sorrows of a sinful world, 

With burdens bowed, by cares and g-riefs oppressed, 

Who felt for others' sorrows as their own, 

Who lent a helping- hand to those in need, 

Returning- good for evil, love for hate. 

Whose g-arments now were white as spotless wool. 

Whose faces beamed with g-entleness and love. 

As onward, upward, devas g-uide their steps. 

Nirvana's liapp}^ mansions full in view. 

He saw the noble eig-htfold path that mounts 
From life's low levels to Nirvana's heights. 
Not by steep grades the strong alone can climb, 
But by such steps as feeblest limbs may take. 
He saw that day by day and step by step, 
By lusts resisted and by evil shunned, 
By acts of love and daily duties done, 
Soothing some heartache, helping those in need. 
Smoothing life's journey for a brother's feet. 
Guarding the lips from harsh and bitter words, 
Guarding the heart from gross and selfish thoughts, 
Guarding the hands from every evil act, 
Brahman or Sudra, high or low, may rise 
Till heaven's bright mansions open to the view, 
And heaven's warm sunshine brightens all the 

way ; 
While neither hecatombs of victims slain. 
Nor clouds of incense wafted to the skies. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VT. 119 

Nor chanted hymns, nor prayers to all the g-ods, 
Can raise a soul that cling-s to g-roveling- lusts. 

He saw the cause of sorrow, and its cure. 
He saw that waves of love surround the soul 
As waves of sunlio^ht fill the outer world, 
While selfishness, the subtle alchemist 
Concealed within, changes that love to hate, 
Forg-es the links of karma's fatal chain, 
Of passions, envies, lusts to bind the soul. 
And weaves his webs of falsehood and deceit 
To close its windows to the living; light, 
Changing its mansion to its prison-house, 
Where it must lay self-chained and self-condemned ; 
While Dharma, Truth, the Law, the Living Word, 
Brushes away those deftly woven webs. 
Opens its windows to the living light. 
Reveals the architect of all its ills. 
Scatters the timbers of its prison-house,* 
And snaps in twain those bitter, galling chains 
So that the soul once more may stand erect, 
Victor of self, no more to be enslaved, 
And live in charity and gentle peace. 
Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate ; 
And when at last the fated stream is reached, 

.After examining the attempted explanations of ^f V^^^^^^^J^f^^^^ 
passage, the original of which is given at the end of the stxth book of 
IrnoTd's '^ Light of Asia," I am satisfied this is its true interpretation. 
U?s not th^d'eath of the body, for he lived forty -five years a terwards 
much less the annihilation of the soul, as some have ^-^-f^]^^^;^''^^ 
Tonquest of the passions and gross -"^ selfish desires which make hu^^ 
man life a prison, the very object and end of the highest Christian 
teachings and aspirations. 



120 The Dawn and the Day, or 

With lig-htened boat to reach the other shore. 
And here he found the light he long- had sought^ 
Gilding- at once Nirvana's blissful heig-hts 
And lig-hting- life's sequestered, lowly vales— 
A lig"ht whose inner life is perfect love, 
A love whose outer form is living- light, 
Nirvana's Sun, the Light of all the worlds,* 
Heart of the universe, whose mighty pulse 
Gives heaven, the worlds and even hell their life^ 
Maker and Father of all living things 
Matreya'sf self, the Lover, Saviour, Guide, 
The last, the greatest Buddha, who must rule 
As Lord of all before the kalpa's end. 

The way of life — the noble eightfold path, 
The way of truth, the Dharma-pada — found, 
With joy he bade his loving guides farewell, 
With joy he turned from all those blissful scenes. 
And when the rosy dawn next tinged the east. 
And morning's burst of song had waked the day,. 

* " Know then that heaven and earth's compacted frame, 
And flowing waters, and the starry flame, 
And both the radiant lights, one common soul 
Inspires and feeds and animates the whole." 

Dryden's Virgil, Book VI, line 360. 

t Buddha predicted that Matreya (Love incarnate) would be hi» 
successor (see Beal's Fa Hian, page 137, note 2, and page 162 ; also 
Hardy's Manual, page 386, and Oldenburgh's Buddhism, page 386), who 
was to come at the end of five hundred years at the end of his Dharma 
(see Buddhism and Christianity, Lillie, page 2). 

It is a remarkable fact that this successor is the most common 
object of worship among Buddhists, so that the most advanced Bud- 
dhists and the most earnest Christians have the same object of worship 
under different names. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VI. 121 

With staff and bowl he left the sacred tree — 
Where pilgrims, passing- pathless mountain-heights, 
And desert sands, and ocean's stormy waves. 
From every nation, speaking every tongue, 
Should come in after-times to breathe their vows — 
Beginning on that day his pilgrimage 
Of five and forty years from place to place. 
Breaking the cruel chains of caste and creed, 
Teaching the law of love, the way of life. 



BOOK Vll. 



Alone on his great mission g'oing' forth, 
Down Phalg-u's valley he retraced his steps, 
Down past the seat where subtle Mara sat. 
And past the fountain where the siren sang", 
And past the city, throug-h the fruitful fields 
And g'ardens he had traversed day by day 
For six long- years, led by a strong- desire 
To show his Brahman teachers his new lig-ht. 
But ah ! the chang-e a little time had wroug-ht ! 
A new-made stupa held their g-athered dust, 
While they had g-one where all see eye to eye. 
The darkness vanished and the river crossed. 

Then turning- sadly from this hallowed spot- 
Hallowed by striving-s for a hig-her life 
More than by dust this little mound contained— 
He soug-ht beneath the spreading- banyan-tree 
His five companions, whom he lately lett 
Sad at his own departure from the wa^^ 
The sacred Vedas and the fathers taug-ht. 
They 'too had g-one, to Varanassi* g-one, 
Hig-h seat and centre of all sacred lore. 

* Varanassi is an old name of Benares. 

(122) 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 123 

The day was well-nig-h spent ; his cave was near, 
Where he had spent so man}^ weary years, 
And as he thither turned and upward climbed, 
The shepherd's little child who watched the flock 
His love had rescued from the bloody knife. 
Upon a rock that rose above his path 
Saw him pass by, and ran with eagerness 
To bear the news. Joy filled that humble home. 
They owed him all. The best they had they brought, 
And offered it with loving- gratitude. 
The master ate, and as he ate he taught 
These simple souls the great, the living truth 
That love is more than costly sacrifice ; 
That daily duties done are highest praise ; 
That when life's duties end its sorrows end. 
And higher joys await the pure in heart. 
Their eager souls drank in his living words 
As those who thirst drink in the living spring. 
Then reverently they kissed his garment's hem. 
And home returned, while he lay down to sleep. 
And sweetly as a babe the master slept — 
No doubts, no darkness, and no troubled dreams. 
When rosy dawn next lit the eastern sky. 
And morning's grateful coolness filled the air, 
The master rose and his ablutions made. 
With bowl and staff in hand he took his way 
Toward Varanassi, hoping there to find 
The five toward whom his earnest spirit yearned. 

Ten days have passed, and now the rising sun 
That hangs above the distant mountain-peaks 



124 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Is mirrored back by countless rippling- waves 
That dance upon the Ganges' yellow stream, 
Swollen by rains and melted mountain-snows, 
And glorifies the thousand sacred fanes* 
With gilded pinnacles and spires and domes 
That rise in beauty on its farther bank, 
While busy multitudes glide up and down 
With lightly dipping oars and swelling sails. 
And pilgrims countless as those shining waves, 
From far and near, from mountain, hill and plain, 
With dust and travel-stained, foot-sore, heart-sick, 
Here came to bathe within the sacred stream, 
Here came to die upon its sacred banks. 
Seeking to wash the stains of guilt away. 
Seeking to lay their galling burdens down. 
Scoff not at these poor heavy-laden souls ! 
Blindly they seek, but that all-seeing Eye 
That sees the tiny sparrow when it falls. 
Is watching them. His angels hover near. 
Who knows what visions meet their dying gaze ? 
Who knows what joys await those troubled hearts ? 

The ancient writings say that having naught 
To pay the ferryman, the churl refused 
To ferry him across the swollen stream. 
When he was raised and wafted through the air. 



* It can be no exaggeration to put the number of sacred edifices that 
burst upon Buddha's view as he first saw the holy city, at 1,000, as Phil- 
lips Brooks puts the present number of such edifices in Benares at 5,000. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VII. 125 

What matter whether that all-powerful Love 

Which moves the worlds, and bears with all our sins, 

Sent him a chariot and steeds of fire, 

Or moved the heart of some poor fisherman 

To bear him over for a brother's sake ? 

All power is His, and men can never thwart 

His all-embracing- purposes of love. 

Now past the stream and near the sacred grove 
The deer-park called, the five saw him approach. 
But grieved at his departure from the way 
The ancient sag-es taug-ht, said with themselves 
They would not rise or do him reverence. 
But as he nearer came, the tender love, 
The holy calm that shone upon his face, 
Made them at once forg-et their firm resolve. 
They rose tog-ether, doing- reverence. 
And bring-ing- water washed his way-soiled feet. 
Gave him a mat, and said as with one voice : 
" Master Gautama, welcome to our g-rove. 
Here rest your weary limbs and share our shade. 
Have you escaped from karma's fatal chains 
And g-ained clear vision — found the living- lig-ht ?" 

" Call me not master. Profitless to you 
Six years have passed," the Buddha answered them, 
" In doubt and darkness g-roping- blindly on. 
But now at last the day has surely dawned. 
These eyes have seen Nirvana's sacred Sun, 
And found the noble eig-htfold path that mounts 



126 The Dawn and the Day, or 

From life's low levels, mounts from death's dark 

shades 
To changeless day, to never-ending- rest." 
Then with the prophet's newly kindled zeal, 
Zeal for the truth his opened eyes had seen, 
Zeal for the friends whose strug-g-les he had shared. 
Softened by sympathy and tender love, 
He taught how selfishness was primal cause 
Of every ill to which frail flesh is heir, 
The poisoned fountain whence all sorrows flow, 
The loathsome worm that coils about the root 
And kills the g-erm of every spring-ing- joy, 
The subtle foe that sows by night the tares 
That quickly springing choke the goodly seed 
Which left to grow would fill the daily life 
With balmy fragrance and with precious fruit. 
He showed that selfishness was life's sole bane 
And love its great and sovereign antidote. 
He showed how selfishness would change the child 
From laughing innocence to greedy youth 
And heartless manhood, cold and cruel age, 
Which past the vale and stript of all disguise 
Shrinks from the good, and eager slinks away 
And seeks those dismal regions of the lost 
His opened eyes with sinking heart had seen. 
Then showed how love its guardian angel paints 
Upon the cooing infant's smiling face. 
Grows into gentle youth, and manhood rich 
In works of helpfulness and brotherhood, 
And ripens into mellow, sweet old age. 
Childhood returned with all its gentleness, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 127 

Whose funeral-pile but lig-hts the upward way 
To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, 
Those ever-widening" mansions of delig'ht. 

Enwrapt the teacher taught the living- truth ; 
Knwrapt the hearers heard his living" words ; 
The nig"ht unheeded wing"ed its rapid fiig"ht, 
The morning" found their souls from darkness free. 

Six yellow robes Benares daily saw, 
Six wooden alms-bowls held for daily food. 
Six meeting" sneers with smiles and hate with love, 
Six watchers by the pilg"rim's dying" bed, 
Six noble souls united in the work 
Of g"iving lig"ht and hope and help to all. 

A rich and noble youth, an only son. 
Had seen Gautama passing" throug"h the streets, 
A holy calm upon his noble face. 
Had heard him tell the pilgrims by the stream, 
Gasping" for breath and breathing" out their lives, 
Of hig"her life and joys that never end ; 
And wearied, sated by the daily round 
Of pleasure, luxury and empty show 
That waste his days but fail to satisfy. 
Yet fearing" his companions' g"ibes and sneers. 
He soug"ht the master in the sacred g"rove 
When the full moon was mirrored in the stream, 
The sleeping city silvered by its light ; 
And there he lingered, drinking in his words, 
Till night was passed and day was well-nigh spent. 



128 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The father, anxious for his absent son, 
Had soug-ht him throug-h the nig-ht from street to 

street 
In every haunt that youthful folly seeks, 
And now despairing soug-ht the sacred g-rove — 
Perhaps by chance, perhaps led by the lig-ht 
That g-uides the pig-eon to her distant home — 
And found him there. He too the Buddha heard. 
And finding- lig-ht, and filled with joy, he said : 
*' Illustrious master, you have found the way. 
You place the upturned chalice on its base. 
You fill with lig-ht the saying-s dark of old. 
You open blinded eyes to see the truth." 

At leng-th they thoug-ht of those poor hearts at 
home. 
Mother and sister, watching- throug"h the night — 
Waiting- and watching- throug-h the livelong- day. 
Startled at every step, at every sound. 
Startled at every bier that came in view 
In that g-reat city of the strang-er dead, 
That city where the living- come to die — 
And home returned when evening-'s rose and g-old 
Had faded from the sky, and myriad lamps 
Danced on the sacred stream, and moon and stars 
Hung- quivering in its dark and silent depths. 
But day by day returned, eag-er to hear 
More of that truth that sweetens daily life, 
Yet reaches upward to eternal day. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 129 

A marriag-e-feast,* three festivals in one, 
Stirs to its depths Benares' social life. 
A g'org'eous sunset ushers in the night, 
Sunset and city mirrored in the stream. 
Broad marble steps upon the river-bank 
Lead to a g-arden where a blaze of bloom, 
A hedg-e of rose-trees, forms the outer wall ; 
An ag-ed banyan-tree, t whose hundred trunks 
Sustain a vaulted roof of living- g-reen 
Which scarce a ray of noonday's sun can pierce. 
The g-arden's vestibule and outer court ; 
While trees of every varied leaf and bloom 
Shade many winding* walks, where fountains fall 
With liquid cadence into shining- pools. 
Above, beyond, the stately palace stands. 
Inviting- in, calling- to peace and rest, 
As if a soul dwelt in its marble form. 

The darkness thickens, when a flood of lig"ht 
Fills every recess, lig-hting- every nook ; 
The g-arden hedg-e a wall of mellow lig'ht, 
A line of lamps along- the river's bank. 
With lamps in every tree and lining- every walk. 
While lamps thick set surround each shining- pool. 
Weaving- with rainbow tints the falling- spray. 

'•= In this marriag-e-feast three well-known incidents in the life of 
Buddha and his teachings on the three occasions are united. 

t For the best description of the banyan-tree, see Lady Duf- 
ferin's account of the old tree at their out-of-town place in " Our 
Viceroyal Life in India," and " Two Years in Ceylon," by C. F. Gordon 
Cumming-. 



130 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And now the palace throug-h the darkness shines. 
A thing of beauty traced with lines of light.* 

The guests arrive in light and graceful boats, 
In gay gondolas such as Venice used, 
With richest carpets, richest canopies, 
And over walks with rose-leaves carpeted 
Pass to the palace, whose wide open gates 
Display within Benares' rank and wealth. 
Proud Brahman lords and stately Brahman dames 
And Brahman youth and beauty, all were there. 
Of Aryan blood but bronzed by India's sun. 
Not dressed like us, as very fashion-plates. 
But clothed in flowing robes of softest wool 
And finest silk, a harmony of shades. 
Sparkling with gems, ablaze with precious stones, t 
Three noble couples greet their gathering guests : 
An aged Brahman and his aged wife, 
For fifty years united in the bonds 
Of wedded love, no harsh, unloving word 
For all those happy years, their only fear 
That death would break the bonds that bound their 

souls ; 
And next their eldest born, who sought his son, 
And drank deep wisdom from the Buddha's lips, 

* Those who saw the illuminations at Chicago during- the World's 
Fair, with lines of incandescent electric lights, can g-et a g-ood idea of 
the great illuminations in India with innumerable oil lamps, and those 
who did not should read Lady Diifferin's charming description of them 
in " Our Viceroyal Life in India." 

t Lady Dufferin says that the viceroy never wearied in his admira 
tion of the graceful flowing robes of the East as contrasted with our 
stiff, fashion-plate male attire. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 131 

And by his side that mother we have seen 
Outwatch the nig"ht, whose sweet and earnest face 
By five and twenty years of wedded love, 
By five and twenty years of busy cares — 
The cares of home, with all its daily joys — 
Had g-ained that look of holy motherhood* 
That millions worship on their bended knees 
As hig-hest emblem of eternal love ; 
And last that sister whose untiring- love 
Watched by her mother throug^h the weary hours, 
Her fair young- face all trust and happiness, 
Before her, rainbow-tinted hopes and joys. 
Life's dark and cold and cruel side concealed, 
And by her side a noble Brahman youth. 
Who saw in her his every hope fulfilled. 

But where is now that erring, wandering- son, 
The pride of all these loyal, loving- hearts, 
Heir to this wealth and hope of this proud house ? 

Seven clothed in coarsest yellow robes draw near 
With heads close shorn and bare, unsandaled feet. 
Alms-bowl on shoulder slung- and staff in hand. 
But moving- with that g-entle stateliness 
That birth and blood, not wealth and effort, g-ive. 
All in the streng-th of manhood's early prime, 
All heirs to wealth rejected, cast aside. 
But all united in the holy cause 

* " The good Lord could not be everywhere and therefore made 
mothers. "—Jewish saying- from the Talmud. 



182 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Of g-iving- lig-ht and hope and help to all, 

While earnest greeting's from the evening's hosts 

Show they are welcome and expected g-uests. 

Startled, the stately Brahmans turn aside. 
*' The heir has lost his reason," -whispered they, 
"And joined that wandering- prince who late ap- 
peared 
Among- the yog-is in the sacred g-rove. 
Who thinks he sees the truth by inner sig-ht, 
Who fain would teach the wise, and claims to know 
More than the fathers and the Vedas teach." 
But as he nearer came, his stately form, 
His noble presence and his earnest face, 
Beaming- with g-entleness and holy love, 
Hushed into silence every rising- sneer. 

One of their number, wise in sacred lore, 
Profoundly learned, in all the Vedas versed. 
With courtly grace saluting- Buddha, said : 
" Our Brahman masters teach that many ways 
Lead up to Brahma Loca, Brahma's rest, 
As many roads from many distant lands 
All meet before Benares' sacred shrines. 
They say that he who learns the Vedas' hymns, 
Performs the rites and prays the many prayers 
That all the sag-es of the past have taug-ht. 
In Brahma's self shall be absorbed at last — 
As all the streams from mountain, hill and plain. 
That swell proud Gung-a's broad and sacred stream. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VII. 133 

At last shall mitig-le with the ocean's waves. 
They say that Brahmans are a holy caste, 
Of whiter skin and hig-her, purer blood, 
From Brahma sprung-, and Brahma's only heirs. 
While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth, 
That only one hard road to Brahma leads, 
That every caste is pure, of common blood, 
That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung." 

But Buddha, full of g-entleness, replied : 
"Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, God,* 
One God and Father, called by many names. 
One God and Father, seen in many forms. 
Seen in the tempest, ming-ling- sea and sky, 
The blinding- sand-storm, chang-ing day to night, 
In gentle showers refreshing thirsty fields, 
Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world. 
Whose setting calls a weary world to rest, 
Seen in the deep o'erarching azure vault, 
By day a sea of light, shining by night 
With countless suns of countless worlds unseen. 
Making us seem so little, God so great. 
Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light ; 
Ye say that Brahma's self is perfect love ; 
Ye pray to Brahma under many names 

;- Max MueUer calls attention to the remarkable fact that Dyaus 
Pittar, the highest name of deity among the ancient Hindoos, is the ex- 
act equivalent of Zeus Pater amongr the Greeks, Jupiter amon^ the 
Romans, and of "Our Father who art in the heavens" in the d.vmely 
taught and holiest prayer of our own religion. 



134 The Dawn and the Day, or 

To g-ive you Brahma Loca's perfect rest.* 

Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean. 

For how can darkness dwell with perfect lig-ht ? 

And how can hatred dwell with perfect love ? 

The slandering- tong-ue, that stirs up strife and hate. 

The g-rasping hand, that takes but never gives, 

The lying- lips, the cold and cruel heart. 

Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring. 

Can ne'er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb, t 

The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell. 

Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste, 

From Brahma sprung and Brahma's only heirs ; 

But yet m Bactria, whence our fathers came. 

And where their brothers and our kindred dwell, 

No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord. 

Has mig-hty Brahma there no son, no heir ? 

The Brahman mother suffers all the pang-s 

Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Vassas feel. 

The Brahman's body, when the soul has fled, 

=■'■ How any one can think that Buddha did not believe in a Supreme 
Being- in the face and lig-ht of the wonderful Sutra or sermon of 
which the text is but a condensation or abstract, is to me unaccount- 
able. It is equally strang-e that any one should suppose he regarded 
Nirvana, which is but another name for Brahma Loca, as meaning- 
annihilation. 

To be sure he used the method afterwards adopted by Socrates, and 
now known as the Socratic method, of appealing to the unquestioned belief 
of the Brahmans themselves as the foundation of his arg-ument in sup- 
port of that fundamental truth of all religions, that the pure in heart 
alone can see God. But to suppose that he was using arguments to con- 
vince them that he did not believe himself, is a libel on one whose abso- 
lute truthfulness and sincerity admit of no question. 

t " He prayeth best who loveth best 
Both man and bird and beast." 

— Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 



The Buddha and the ('hrist — Book VII. 135 

A putrid mass, defiles the earth and air, 
Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts. 
The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief 
Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast, 
While some poor Sudra, full of g-entleness 
And pity, charity and trust and love. 
May rise to Brahma Loca's perfect rest. 
Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth 
To raise the soul or ward off human ill ? 
Why pray for what we do not strive to g"ain ? 
Like merchants on the swollen Gang-es' bank 
Praying- the farther shore to come to them, 
Taking- no steps, seeking- no means, to cross. 
Far better strive to cast out g-reed and hate. 
Live not for self, but live for others' good. 
Indulg-e no bitter speech, no bitter thoug-hts. 
Help those in need ; give freely what we have. 
Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth. 
Indulg*e no lust ; taste not the maddening- bowl 
That deadens sense and stirs all base desires ; 
And live in charity and g-entle peace. 
Bearing" all meekly, loving- those who hate. 
This is the way to Brahma Loca's rest. 
And ye who may, come, follow after me. 
Leave wealth and home and all the joys of life. 
That we may aid a sad and suffering* world 
In sin and sorrow g-roping- blindly on, 
Becoming poor that others may be rich, 
Wanderers ourselves to lead the wanderers home. 
And ye who stay, ever remember this : 



136 The Dawn and the Day, or 

That hearth is Brahma's altar where love reig^ns. 
That house is Brahma's temple where love dwells. 
Ye ask, my ag-ed friends, if death can break 
The bonds that bind your souls in wedded love. 
Fear not ; death has no power to conquer love. 
Go hand in hand till death shall claim his own, 
Then hand in hand ascend Nirvana's heights, 
There, hand in hand, heart beating- close to heart,. 
Enter that life whose joys shall never end, 
Perennial youth succeeding palsied age, 
Mansions of bliss for this poor house of clay. 
Labors of love instead of toil and tears." 

He spoke, and many to each other said : 
"Why hear this babbler rail at sacred thing's — 
Our caste, our faith, our prayers and sacred 

hymns ?" 
And strode away in proud and sovereig-n scorn ; 
While some with g-ladness heard his solemn words^ 
All soon forg-otten in the g"iddy whirl 
Of daily business, daily joys and cares. 
But some drank in his words with eager ears. 
And asked him many questions, lingering long. 
And often soug-ht him in the sacred g-rove 
To hear his burning- words of living truth. 
And day by day some noble Brahman youth 
Forsook his wealth, forsook his home and friends^ 
And took the yellow robe and beg-ging-bowl 
To ask for alms where all had given him place, 
Meeting with gentleness the rabble's gibes, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 137 

Meeting- with smiles the Brahman's haug-hty scorn. 
Thus, day by day, this school of prophets g-rew. 
Beneath the banyan's columned, vaulted shade. 
All earnest learners at the master's feet, 
Until the city's busy, bustling throng- 
Had come to recog-nize the yellow robe, 
The poor to know its wearer as a friend, 
The sick and suffering- as a comforter, 
While to the dying- pilg-rim's glazing- eyes 
He seemed a messeng-er from hig-her worlds 
Come down to raise his sinking spirit up 
And guide his trembling steps to realms of rest. 

A year has passed, and of this growing band 
Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith, 
Willing to do whate'er the master bids. 
Ready to go where'er the master sends^ 
Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands 
And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds. 

With joy the master saw their burning zeal. 
So free from selfishness, so full of love. 
And thought of all those blindly groping souls 
To whom these messengers would bear the light. 

" Go," said the master, "each a different way. 
Go teach the common brotherhood of man. 
Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love, 
One law for high and low, for rich and poor. 
Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword. 



138 The Dawn and the Day, or 

And treat with kindness every living- thing. 
Teach them to shun all theft and craft and g-reed, 
All bitter thoug-hts, and false and slanderous speech 
That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate. 
Revere your own, revile no brother's faith. 
The lig-ht you see is from Nirvana's Sun, 
Whose rising- splendors promise perfect day. 
The feeble rays that lig-ht your brother's path 
Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid, 
The ling-ering- shadows of the passing- nig-ht. 
Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth 
Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps. 
Lest your rude manners drive them from the way 
That leads to purit}^ and peace and rest — 
As some rude swain in some sequestered vale. 
Who thinks the visual line that girts him round 
The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows 
One rudely charging him with ignorance. 
Yet gently led to some commanding height. 
Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks, 
The rolling hills and India's spreading plains. 
With joyful wonder views the glorious scene. 
Pause not to break the idols of the past. 
Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts. 
Their broken idols shock their worshipers. 
But led to light they soon forgotten lie." 

One of their number, young and strong and brave, 
A merchant ere he took the yellow robe. 
Had crossed the frozen Himalayan heights 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VII. 



139 



And found a race, alien in tongue and blood, 
Gentle as children in their daily lives, 
Untauo-ht as children in all sacred things, 
Living in wagons, wandering o'er the steppes, 
To-day all shepherds, tending countless flocks, 
To-morrow warriors, cruel as the grave. 
Building huge monuments of human heads — 
Fearless, resistless, with the cyclone's speed 
Leaving destruction in their bloody track. 
Who drove the Aryan from his native plains 
To seek a home in Europe's trackless wastes. 
He yearned to seek these children of the wilds, ^ 
And teach them peace and gentleness and love. 
- But, Purna," said the master, - they are fierce. 
How will you meet their cruelty and wrath . 
Purna replied, " With gentleness and love." 
-But," said the master, "they may beat and 

wound." „ 

*' And I will give them thanks to spare my lite. 
- But with slow tortures they may even kill." 
- 1 with mv latest breath will bless their names. 
So soon to ■'free me from this prison-house 
And send me joyful to the other shore." 
''Then," said the master, - Purna, it is well. 

ia'".rrr.:a'"aT:U^r-. a»I.>.e, Ha. pe.eUa.ea east .0 
the confines of China. 



140 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Armed with such patience, seek these savage tribes* 
Thyself delivered, free from karma's chains 
These souls enslaved ; thyself consoled, console 
These restless children of the desert wastes ; 
Thyself this peaceful haven having- reached, 
Guide these poor wanderers to the other shore." 

With many counsels, many words of cheer, 
He on their mission sent his brethren forth, 
Armed with a prophet's zeal, a brother's love, 
A martyr's courage, and the Christian's hope 
That when life's duties end, its trials end, 
And higher life awaits those faithful found. 

The days pass on ; and now the rising sun 
Looks down on bands of pilgrims homeward bound, 
Some moving north, some south, some east, some 

west. 
Toward every part of India's vast expanse, 
One clothed in orange robes with every band 
To guide their kindred on the upward road. 

But Purna joined the merchants he had led, 
Not moved by thirst for gain, but love for man. 
To seek the Tartar on his native steppes. 

Meanwhile the master with diminished band 
Crossing the Ganges, backward wends his way 
Toward Rajagriha, and the vulture-peak 
Where he had spent so many weary years. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VII. 141 

Whither he bade the brothers g-ather in* 

When summer's rains should bring- the time for rest. 



♦The large g-atherings of the Buddhist brotherhoods everywhere 
spoken of in the writings can only be accounted for on the supposi- 
tion, which is more than a supposition, that they came to him in the 
rainy season, when they could do but little in their missions ; and the 
substantial unity of the Buddhist faith can only be accounted for on 
the supposition that his instructions were constantly renewed at these 
gatherings and their errors corrected. 



BOOK VIII. 



Northward the noble Purna took his way 
Till India's fields and plains were lost to view, 
Then throug-h the rug-g-ed foot-hills upward 

climbed, 
And up a g'org'e by rocky ramparts walled, 
Throug-h which a mig-hty torrent thundered down, 
Their treacherous way along- the torrent's brink. 
Or up the ^iddy cliffs where one false step 
Would plung-e them headlong- in the rag-ing- stream, 
Passing from cliff to cliff, their bridg-e of ropes 
Swung- hig-h above the dashing-, roaring- waves. 
At leng-th they cross the frozen mountain-pass, 
O'er wastes of snow by furious tempests swept. 
And cross a desert where no bird or beast 
Is ever seen, and where their way is marked 
By bleaching- bones strewn thick along- their track.* 

Some perished by the way, and some turned 
back, 
While some of his companions persevered. 



* I have substantially followed the description of this fearful 
route g-iven by Fa Hian, the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim, who passed by 
it from China to India. 

(142) 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VIII. 



143 



Cheered on by Puma's never-fia^g-in^ zeal, 
And by the master's words from Purna's lips, 
Until they reached the outmost wandering- tribes 
Of that g-reat race that he had come to save. 
With joy received, these wandering- tribes their 

g-uides — 
For love makes friends where selfishness breeds 

strife — 
They soon are led to where their kindred dwell. 
They saw the vanity of chasing- wealth 
Through hung-er, dang-er, desolation, death. 
They felt a power sustaining- Purna's steps — 
A power unseen yet ever hovering- near — 
They saw the truth of Buddha's burning words 
That selfishness and g-reed drag down the soul, 
While love can nerve the feeblest arm with 

strength, 
And asked that Purna take them as his aids. 

But ere brave Purna reached his journey's end. 
Near many hamlets, many Indian towns. 
The moon, high risen to mark the noon of night. 
Through many sacred fig-tree's rustling leaves* 
Sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed 
Upon a noble youth in orange robes. 
His alms-bowl by his side, stretched out in sleep, 
Dreaming, perchance, of some Benares maid, 
Perchance of home and joys so lately left. 

* Like the aspen, the leaf of the sacred figr-tree is always trem- 
bling.— " Two Years in Ceylon," Gumming. 



144 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Meanwhile the master with his little band 
Toward Rajag-riha backward wends his way, 
Some villag-e tree their nig-htly resting-place, 
Until they reached the g-rove that skirts the base 
Of that bold mountain called the vulture-peak, 
Throug-h which the lotus-covered Phalg-u glides, 
O'erarched with trees festooned with trailing- vines. 
While little streams leap down from rock to rock. 
Cooling- the verdant slopes and fragrant glades, 
And vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom 
Loaded the air with odors rich and sweet. 
And where that sacred fig-tree spread its shade 
Above the mound that held the gathered dust 
Of those sage Brahmans who had sought to aid 
The young prince struggling for a clearer light, 
And where that banyan-tree for ages grew. 
So long the home of those five noble youths, 
Now sundered far, some tree when night may fall 
Their resting-place, their robe and bowl their all. 
Their only food chance gathered day b}^ day. 
Preaching the common brotherhood of man, 
Teaching the law of universal love. 
Bearing the light to those in darkness sunk, 
Lending a helping hand to those in need, 
Teaching the strong that gentleness is great. 
And through this grove where man}^ noble souls 
Were seeking higher life and clearer light, 
He took his well-known way, and reached his cave 
Just as the day was fading into night. 
And myriad stars spangled the azure vault. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VIII, 



145 



And myriad lamps that throug-h the darkness 

shone 
Revealed the city that the nig-ht had veiled, 
Where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest ; 
But through the silent hour preceding- day, 
Before the jung-le-cock announced the dawn, 
All roused from sleep in meditation sat. 
But when the sun had set the east a^low, 
And roused the birds to sing their matin-song-s. 
And roused the lowing- herds to call their mates, 
And roused a sleeping- world to daily toil. 
Their matins chanted, their ablutions made, 
With bowl and staff in hand they took their way 
Down to the city for their daily alms. 

But earlier steps had brushed their dewy path. 
From out the shepherd's cottag-e loving- eyes 
Had recog-nized the master's stately form. 
And love-wing-ed steps had borne the joyful news 
That he, the poor man's advocate and friend, 
The sweet-voiced messeng-er of peace and love. 
The prince become a begg-ar for their sake. 
So long- expected, now at last returns. 
From door to door the joyful tiding:s spread, 
And old and young- from every cottag-e came. 
The merchant left his wares without a guard ; 
The housewife left her pitcher at the well ; 
The loom was idle and the anvil still ; 
The money-chang-er told his coins alone, 
While all the multitude went forth to meet 
Their servant-master and their beg-g-ar-prince. 



146 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Some brought the g-arden's choicest treasures 

forth. 
Some gathered lotuses from Phalgu's stream, 
Some climbed the trees to pluck their varied bloom, 
While children gathered every wayside flower 
To strew his way— their lover, savior, guide. 

King Bimbasara from his watch-tower saw 
The wild commotion and the moving throng. 
And sent swift messengers to learn the cause. 
With winged feet through vacant streets they flew, 
And through the gates and out an avenue 
Where aged trees that grew on either side, 
Their giant branches interlocked above. 
Made nature's gothic arch and densest shade. 
While gentle breezes, soft as if they came 
From devas' hovering wings, rustle the leaves 
And strew the way with showers of falling bloom. 
As if they, voiceless, felt the common joy. 
And there they found the city's multitudes. 
Not as in tumult, armed with clubs and staves. 
And every weapon ready to their hands. 
But stretching far on either side the way. 
Their flower-filled hands in humble reverence 

joined, 
The only sound a murmur, " There he comes! " 
While every eye was turned in loving gaze 
Upon a little band in yellow robes 
Who now drew near from out the sacred grove. 
The master passed with calm, majestic grace. 
Stately and tall, one arm and shoulder bare. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VIII. 147 

With head close shorn and bare unsandaled feet ; 

His noble brow, the wonder of his age, 

Not clothed in terror like Olympic Jove's — 

For love, not anger, beamed from out those eyes. 

Changing from clearest blue to softest black, 

That seem to show unfathomed depths within. 

With tears of holy pity glittering now 

For those poor souls come forth to honor him. 

All sheep without a shepherd groping on. 

The messengers with reverence let him pass. 

Then hastened back to tell the waiting king 

That he who dwelt so long upon the hill, 

The prince who stopped the bloody sacrifice. 

With other holy rishis had returned, 

Whom all received with reverence and joy. 

The king with keenest pleasure heard their words. 

That noble form, that calm, majestic face. 

Had never faded from his memory. 

His words of wisdom, words of tender love. 

Had often stayed his hands when raised to strike, 

Had often put a bridle on his tongue 

When harsh and bitter words leaped to his lips. 

And checked those cruel acts of sudden wrath 

That stain the annals of the greatest kings. 

Until the people to each other said : 

" How mild and gentle our good king has grown !" 

And when he heard this prince had now returned, 

In flower-embroidered purple robes arrayed. 

With all the pomp and circumstance of state, 

Followed by those who ever wait on power. 

He issued forth and climbed the rugged hill 



148 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Until he reached the cave where Buddha sat, 

Calm and majestic as the rounded moon 

That moves serene along- its heavenly path. 

Greeting- each other with such ro^-al g-race 

As fits a prince greeting- a brother prince, 

The king- inquired wh}^ he had left his home ? 

Wh}^ he, a Chakravartin's only son, 

Had left his palace for a lonely cave. 

Wore coarsest cloth instead of royal robes, 

And for a scepter bore a beg-g-ing--bowl ? 

" Youth." said the king, "with full and bounding- 

pulse, 
Youth is the time for boon companionship. 
The time for pleasure, when all pleasures please ; 
Manhood, the time for gaining wealth and power ; 
But as the years creep on, the step infirm. 
The arm grown feeble and the hair turned gray, 
'Tis time to mortify the five desires, 
To give religion what of life is left, 
And look to heaven when earth begins to pall. 
I would not use my power to hold you here, 
But offer half my kingdom for your aid 
To govern well and use my power aright." 
The prince with gentle earnestness replied : 
" O king, illustrious and world-renowned ! 
Your noble offer through all coming time 
Shall be remembered. Men will praise an act 
By likening it to Bimbasara's gift. 
You offer me the half of your domain. 
I in return beseech you share with me 
Better than wealth, better than kingly power, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 149 

The peace and joy that follows lusts subdued. 
Wait not on ag-e — for ag-e brings feebleness — 
But this great battle needs our utmost strength. 
If you will come, then welcome to our cave ; 
If not, may wisdom all your actions g-uide. 
Ruling- your empire in all rig-hteousness, 
Preserve your country and protect her sons. 
Sadly I leave you, g^reat and g-racious king, 
But my work calls — a world that waits for light. 
In yonder sacred grove three brothers dwell — 
Kasyapa, Gada, Nadi, they are called ; 
Three chosen vessels for the perfect law, 
Three chosen lamps to light a groping world, 
Who worship now the gross material fire 
Which burns and wastes but fails to purify. 
I go to tell them of Nirvana's Sun, 
Perennial source of that undying flame, 
The fire of love, consuming lust and hate 
As forest fires devour the crackling thorns, 
Until the soul is purified from sin. 
And sorrow, birth and death are left behind." 

He found Kasyapa as the setting sun 
Was sinking low behind the western hills. 
And somber shadows darkened Phalgu's vale, 
And asked a place to pass the gathering night. 
'' Here is a grotto, cooled by trickling streams 
And overhanging shades, fit place for sleep," 
Kasyapa said, " that I would gladly give ; 
But some fierce Naga nightly haunts the spot 



150 The Dawn and the Day, or 

Whose poisoned breath no man can breathe and 

live." 
"Fear not for me," the Buddha answered him, 
" For I this night will make my dwelling- there." 
" Do as you will," Kasyapa doubtful said, 
"But much I fear some dire catastrophe." 
Now mig-hty Mara, spirit of the air, 
The prince of darkness, roaming- throug-h the earth 
Had found this grotto in the sacred grove. 
And as a Naga there kept nightly watch 
For those who sought deliverance from his power, 
Who, when the master calmly took his seat, 
Belched forth a flood of poison, foul and black, 
And with hot, burning vapors filled the cave. 
But Buddha sat unmoved, serene and calm 
As Brahma sits amid the kalpa fires 
That burn the worlds but cannot harm his heaven. 
While Mara, knowing Buddha, fled amazed 
And left the Naga coiled in Buddha's bowl.* 
Kasyapa, terrified, beheld the flames. 
And when the first faint rays of dawn appeared 
With all his fearful followers sought the cave. 
And found the master not consumed to dust. 
But full of peace, aglow with perfect love. 
Kasyapa, full of wonder, joyful said : 
*' I, though a master, have no power like this 
To conquer groveling lusts and evil beasts." 
Then Buddha taught the source of real power, 



'- This is A.svag-hosha's version, but the Satichi inscriptions make 
the Naga or cobra rise up behind Buddha and extend its hood over his 
head as a shelter. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 151 

The power of love to fortify the soul, 

Until Kasyapa gathered all his stores, 

His sacred vessels, sacrificial robes. 

And cast them in the Phalg-u passing- near. 

His brothers saw them floating- down the stream. 

And wing-ed with fear made haste to learn the 

cause. 
They too the master saw, and heard his words, 
And all convinced received the perfect law. 
And with their followers joined the Buddha's band. 

The days pass on, and in the bamboo-g-rove 
A g-reat vihara as by mag-ic rose. 
Built by the king- for Buddha's growing- band, 
A spacious hall where all might hear his words. 
And little cells where each might take his rest, 
A school and rest-house through the summer rains. 

But soon the monsoons from the distant seas 
Bring gathering clouds to veil the brazen sky, 
While nimble lightnings dart their blinding flames, 
And rolling thunders shake the trembling hills. 
And heaven's downpourings drench the thirsty 

earth — 
The master's seed-time when the people rest. 
For now the sixty from their distant fields 
Have gathered in to trim their lamps afresh 
And learn new wisdom from the master's lips — 
All but brave Purna on the Tartar steppes 
Where summer is the fittest time for toil. 
When India's rains force India's sons to rest. 



152 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The new vihara and the bamboo-grove 

King Bimbasara to the master gave, 

Where da}^ by day he taught his growing school, 

While rills, grown torrents, leap from rock to rock. 

And Phalgu's swollen stream sweeps down the vale. 

That Saraputra after called the Great 
Had seen these new-come youths in yellow robes 
Passing from street to street to ask for alms. 
Receiving coarsest food with gentle thanks — 
Had seen them meet the poor and sick and old 
With kindly words and ever-helpful hands — 
Had seen them passing to the bamboo-grove 
Joyful as bridegrooms soon to meet their brides. 
He, Vashpa and Asvajit met one day. 
Whom he had known beneath the banyan-tree, 
Two of the five who first received the law, 
Now clothed in yellow, bearing begging-bowls, 
And asked their doctrine, who their master was, 
That they seemed joyful, while within the grove 
All seemed so solemn, self-absorbed and sad. 
They bade him come and hear the master's words. 
And when their bowls were filled, he followed them, 
And heard the living truth from Buddha's lips. 
And said : " The sun of wisdom has arisen. 
What further need of our poor flickering lamps ?" 
And with Mugallan joined the master's band. 

And now five strangers from the Tartar steppes. 
Strangers in form and features, language, dress, 
Guided by one as strange in dress as the}'-, 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VIII. 



153 



Weary and foot-sore, passed within the gates 

Of Rajagriha, while the rising sun 

Was still concealed behind the vulture-peak, 

A laughing-stock to all the idle crowd, 

Whom noisy children followed through the 

streets 
As thoughtless children follow what is strange, 
Until they met the master asking alms. 
Who with raised hand and gentle, mild rebuke 
Hushed into silence all their noisy mirth. 
-These are our brothers," Buddha mildly said. 
'' Weary and worn they come from distant lands. 
And ask for kindness — not for mirth and jeers." 
They knew at once that calm, majestic face, 
That voice as sweet as Brahma's, and those eyes 
Beaming with tender, all-embracing love. 
Of which, while seated round their argol fires 
In their black tents, brave Purna loved to tell. 
And bowed in worship at the master's feet. 
He bade them rise, and learned from whence they 

came. 
And led them jovful to the bamboo-grove, 
Where some brought water from the nearest stream 
To bathe their festered feet and weary limbs, 
While some brought food and others yellow robes — 
Fitter for India's heat than skins and furs — 
All welcoming their new-found friends who came 
From distant lands, o'er desert wastes and snows, 
To see the master, hear the perfect law. 
And bring the message noble Purna sent. 



154 The Dawn and the Day, or 

The months pass on ; the monsoons cease to blow, 
The thunders cease to roll, the rains to pour ; 
The earth, refreshed, is clothed with living- green, 
And flowers burst forth where all was parched and 

bare. 
And busy toil succeeds long- days of rest. 
The time for mission work has come. 
The brethren, now to many hundreds g-rown, 
Where'er the master thought it best were sent. 
The strongest and the bravest volunteered 
To answer Purna's earnest call for help. 
And clothed in fitting robes for piercing cold 
They scale the mountains, pass the desert wastes, 
Their guide familiar with their terrors grown ; 
While some return to their expectant flocks. 
And some are sent to kindred lately left, 
And some to strangers dwelling near or far — 
All bearing messages of peace and love — 
Until but few in yellow robes remain, 
And single footfalls echo through that hall 
Where large assemblies heard the master's words. 
A few are left, not yet confirmed in faith ; 
And those five brothers from the distant north 
Remain to learn the sacred tongue and lore, 
While Saraputra and Kasyapa stay 
To aid the master in his special work. 

From far Kosala, rich Sudata came, 
Friend of the destitute and orphans called. 
In houses rich, and rich in lands and gold. 
But richer far in kind and gracious acts. 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 155 

Who stopped in Rajagriha with a friend. 

But when he learned a Buddha dwelt so near, 

And heard the g-racious doctrine he proclaimed, 

That very nig-ht he soug"ht the bamboo-g'rove, 

While roofs and towers were silvered by the moon. 

And silent streets in deepest shadows lay, 

And bamboo-plumes seemed waving" silver sprays, 

And on the ground the trembling* shadows played. 

Humble in mind but g-reat in g-racious deeds. 

Of earnest purpose but of simple heart, 

The master saw in him a vessel fit 

For rig-hteousness, and bade him stay and learn 

His rules of g-race that bring- Nirvana's rest. 

And first of all the g-racious master said : 

" This restless nature and this selfish world 

Is all a phantasy and empty show ; 

Its life is lust, its end is pain and death. 

Waste not your time in speculations deep 

Of whence and why. One thing- we surely know: 

Each living- thing- must have a living- cause. 

And mind from mind and not from matter spring's ; 

While love, which like an endless g-olden chain 

Binds all in one, is love in every link, 

Up from the sparrow's nest, the mother's heart, 

Throug-h all the heavens to Brahma's boundless 

love. 
And lusts resisted, daily duties done. 
Unite our lives to that unbroken chain 
Which draws us up to heaven's eternal rest." 
And throug-h the nig-ht they earnestly communed. 
Until Sudata saw the living- truth 



156 The Dawn and the Day, or 

In rising- splendor, like the morning- sun, 

And doubts and errors all are swept away 

As gathering- clouds are swept by autumn's winds. 

Bowing- in reverence, Sudata said : 
'' I know the Buddha never seeks repose. 
But g-ladly toils to g-ive to others rest. 

that my people, now in darkness sunk, 
Mig-ht see the lig-ht and hear the master's words ! 

1 dwell in King- Pasenit's distant realm — 
A king- renowned, a country fair and rich — 
And yearn to build a g-reat vihara there." 
The master, knowing- well Sudata's heart 
And his unselfish charity, replied : 

" Some g-ive in hope of g-reater g-ifts returned ; 

Some g-ive to g-ain a name for charity ; 

Some g-ive to g-ain the rest and jo}^ of heaven, 

Some to escape the woes and pains of hell. 

Such g-iving- is but selfishness and g-reed, 

But he who gives without a selfish thought 

Has entered on the noble eightfold path. 

Is purified from anger, envy, hate. 

The bonds of pain and sorrow are unloosed ; 

The way to rest and final rescue found. 

Let your hands do what your kind heart desires." 

Hearing this answer, he departs with joy. 
And Buddha with him Saraputra sent. 
Arriving home, he sought a pleasant spot, 
And found the garden of Pasenit's son. 
And sought the prince, seeking to buy the ground. 



The Buddha and the Christ— Book VIII. 157 

But he refused to sell, yet said in jest : 

" Cover the grove with g-old, the ground is yours." 

Forthwith Sudata spread his yellow coin. 

But Gata said, caug-ht by his thoug-htless jest : 

" Spread not your g-old— I will not sell the g-round." 

" Not sell the g-round ?" Sudata sharply said, 

"Why then said you, ' Fill it with yellow g-old'?" 

And both contending- soug-ht a mag-istrate. 

But Gata, knowing- well his earnestness. 

Asked why he soug-ht the g-round ; and when he 

learned, 
He said : ' ' Keep half your gold ; the land is yours, 
But mine the trees, and jointly we will build 
A g-reat vihara for the Buddha's use." 
The work beg-un was pressed both nig-ht and day ; 
Lofty it rose, in just proportions built. 
Fit for the palace of a mig-hty king. 
The people saw this great vihara rise, 
A stately palace for a foreig-n prince, 
And said in wonder : ' ' What strang-e thing- is this ? 
Our king- to welcome thus a foreign king 
To new-made palaces, and not with war 
And bloody spears and hands to new-made graves, 
As was his father's wont in times gone by ?" 
Yet all went forth to meet this coming prince. 
And see a foreign monarch's royal pomp, 
But heard no trumpeting of elephants. 
Nor martial music, nor the neigh of steeds. 
But saw instead a little band draw near 
In yellow robes, with dust and travel-stained ; 
But love, that like a holy halo crowned 



158 The Dawn and the Day, or 

That dusty leader's calm, majestic brow, 

Hushed into silence every rising sneer. 

And when Sudata met this weary band, 

And to the prince's garden led their way, 

They followed on, their hands in reverence joined, 

To where the stately new vihara rose, 

Enbowered in giant trees of every kind 

That India's climate grows, while winding streams 

Along their flowery banks now quiet flow, 

Now leap from rocks, now spread in shining pools 

With lotuses and lilies overspread. 

While playing fountains with their falling spray 

Spread grateful coolness, and a blaze of bloom 

From myriad opening flowers perfumes the air. 

And myriad birds that sought this peaceful spot 

Burst forth in every sweet and varied song 

That India's fields and groves and gardens know. 

And there Sudata bowed on bended knee, 

And from a golden pitcher water poured, 

The sign and sealing of their gift of love 

Of this vihara, Gatavana called, 

A school and rest-house for the Buddha's use. 

And for the brotherhood throughout the world. 

Buddha received it with the fervent prayer 

That it might give the kingdom lasting peace. 

Unlike Sudata's self, Sudata's king 
Believed religion but a comely cloak 
To hide besetting sins from public view. 
And sought the master in his new retreat 
To talk religion and to act a part, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 159 

And greeting's ended, said in solemn wise : 

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown ; 

But my poor king-dom now is doubly blest 

In one whose teaching's purify the soul 

And g-ive the hig-hest and the humblest rest, 

As all are cleansed who bathe in Rapti's stream." 

But Buddha saw throug'h all this outer show 

His real purposes and inner life : 

The love of pleasure blig-hting- hig'h resolve, 

The love of money, root of every ill, 

That sends its poison fibers throug'h the soul 

And saps its life and wastes its vital strength. 

*' The Tathag-ata only shows the way 

To purity and rest," the master said. 

" There is a way to darkness out of lig-ht. 

There is a way to lig'ht from deepest g-loom. 

They only g-ain the g-oal who keep the way. 

Harsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead 

As sure as shadows on their substance wait. 

For as we sow, so also shall we reap. 

Boast not o'ermuch of king-ly dig-nity. 

A king' most needs a kind and loving' heart 

To love his subjects as an only son, 

To aid — not injure, comfort — not oppress, 

Their help, protector, father, friend and g'uide. 

Such king's shall live beloved and die renowned. 

Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest." 

The king, convicted, heard his solemn words 

That like an arrow pierced his inmost life. 

To him relig-ion ceased to be a show 

Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds, 



160 The Dawn and the Day, or 

But stood a living- presence in his way 

To check his blind and headlong- downward course, 

And lead him to the noble eig-htfold path, 

That day by day and step by step shall lead 

To purity and peace and heavenly rest. 

Kapilavastu's king-, Suddhodana, 
His step g-rown feeble, snow}' white his hair, 
By cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred. 
For eig-ht long- years had waited for his son. 
But sweet Yasodhara, in widow's weeds, 
Her love by sorrow only purified 
As fire refines the g-old by dross debased. 
Though tender memories bring- unbidden tears. 
Wasted no time in morbid, selfish g-rief, 
But sought in care for others her own cure. 
Both son and daug-hter to the aged king, 
She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care. 
Father and mother to her little son, 
She lavishes on him a double love. 
And oft on mercy's missions going forth. 
Shunning the pomp and show of royal state, 
Leading Rahula, prattling by her side, 
The people saw her pass with swelling hearts, 
As if an angel clothed in human form. 

And now strange rumors reach the public ear. 
By home-bound pilgrims from Benares brought 
And merchantmen from Rajagriha come. 
That there a holy rishi had appeared 
Whom all believed a very living Buddh, 



The Budijha and the Christ — Book VIU, KU 

While king's and peoples followed after him. 
These rumors reached the sweet Yasodhara, 
And stirred these musing's in her watchful heart : 
*' Stately and tall they say this rishi is, 
Gentle to old and young-, to rich and poor. 
And filled with love for every living- thing-. 
But who so g-entle, stately, tall and g-rand 
As my Siddartha ? Who so full of love ? 
And he has found the lig-ht Siddartha soug-ht ! 
It must be he — my own, my best beloved ! 
And surely he will hither come, and bring 
To his poor people, now in darkness sunk, 
That living- lig-ht he left his home to seek." 

As the same sun that makes the cedars g-row 
And sends their vital force throug-h g-iant oaks, 
Clothes 'fields with g-reen and decks the wayside 

flower, 
And crowns the autumn with its g-olden fruits, 
So that same love which swept through Buddha's 

soul 
And drove him from his home to seek and save, 
Warmed into brig-hter g-low each lesser love 
Of home and people, father, wife and child,* 
And often throug-h those long- and troubled years 

♦Some Buddhists teach that Buddha had conquered all human af- 
fections, and even enter into apolog-ies for a show of affection for his 
wife, one of the most elaborate of which Arnold, in the " Lig-ht of Asia," 
puts into his own mouth ; but this is no more like the teaching-s of 
Buddha than the doctrine of infant damnation is like the teachings of 
Him who said : " Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid 
them not ; for of such is the king-dom of God." 



162 The Dawn and the Day, or 

He felt a burning- long-ing- to return. 

And now, when summer rains had ceased to fall, 

And his disciples were again sent forth, 

Both love and duty with united voice 

Bade him revisit his beloved home, 

And Saraputra and Kasyapa joined 

The master wending- on his homeward way. 

While lig-ht-winged rumor bore Yasodhara 

This joyful news : " The holy rishi comes." 

Without the southern g-ate a g-arden lay, 
Ivumbini called, by playing- fountains cooled. 
With shaded walks winding- by banks of flowers, 
Whose 'ming-led odors load each passing breeze. 
Thither Yasodhara was wont to go, 
For there her lord and dearest love was born. 
And there they passed full many happy days. 
The southern road skirted this garden's wall. 
While on the other side were suburb huts 
Where toiling poor folk and the base-born dwell. 
And near this wall a bright pavilion rose. 
Whence she could see each passer by the way. 
One morning, after days of patient watch, 
She saw approach along this dusty road 
Three seeming pilgrims, clothed in yellow robes. 
Presenting at each humble door their bowls 
For such poor food as these poor folk could give. 
As they drew near, a growing multitude. 
From every cottage swelled, followed their steps. 
Gazing with awe upon the leader's face. 
While each to his companion wondering said : 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 163 

" Who ever saw a rishi such as this, 

Who calls us brothers, whom the Brahmans scorn ? " 

But sweet Yasodhara, with love's quick sig-ht, 

Knew him she waited for, and forth she rushed, 

Cr3ang- : " Siddartha, O my love ! my lord ! " 

And prostrate in the dust she clasped his feet. 

He g"ently raised and pressed her to his heart 

In one most tender, loving-, long- embrace. 

By that embrace her every heartache cured. 

She calmly said : " Give me a humble part 

In your g-reat work, for thoug-h my hands are weak 

My heart is strong-, and my weak hands can bear 

The cooling- cup to fever's burning- lips ; 

My mother's heart has more than room enoug-h 

For many outcasts, many helpless waifs." 

And there in presence of that base-born throng-, 

Who g-azed with tears and wonder on the scene. 

And in a hig-her presence, who can doubt 

He made her first of that g-reat sisterhood, 

Since throug-h the ag-es known in every land, 

Who g-ently raise the dying- soldier's head. 

Where cruel war is mang-ling- human limbs ; 

Who smooth the pillow, bathe the burning brow 

Of sick and helpless strang-ers taken in ; 

Whose tender care has made the orphans' home, 

For those poor waifs who know no mother's love. 

Then toward the palace they tog-ether went 

To their Rahula and the ag-ed king. 

While streets were lined and doors and windows 

filled 
With eag-er g-azers at the prince returned 



164 Thk Dawn and the Day, or 

In coarsest robes, with closely shaven head, 
Returned a Buddha who went forth a prince. 

Throug-h all these troubled, weary, waiting years. 
The king- still hoped to see his son return 
In royal state, with king's for waiting-men, 
To rule a willing- world as king- of kings. 
But now that son enters his palace-gates 
In coarsest beggar-garb, his alms-bowl filled 
With Sudras' leavings for his daily food. 
The king with mingled grief and anger said : 
" Is this the end of all our cherished hopes, 
The answer to such lofty prophecies. 
To see the heir of many mighty kings 
Enter his kingdom like a beggar-tramp ? 
This the return for all the patient love 
Of sweet Yasodhara, and this the way 
To teach his duty to your royal son ?" 
The prince with reverence kissed his father's hand. 
Bent loving eyes upon his troubled brow 
That banished all his bitterness and said : 
" How hard it is to give up cherished hopes 
I know full well. I know a father's love. 
Your love for me I for Rahula feel, 
And who can better know that deepest love 
Whose tendrils round my very heartstrings twine ! 
But crores of millions, with an equal love, 
Fathers and mothers, children, husbands, wives. 
In doubt and darkness groping blindly on, 

Cry out for help. Not lack of love for you, 

Or my Rahula or Yasodhara, 



The Buddha and the Christ — Book VIII. 165 

But love for them drove me to leave my home. 

The g-reatest king-doms are like ocean's foam, 

A moment white upon the crested wave. 

The longest life is but a passing- dream, 

Whose chang-ing- scenes but fill a moment's space. 

But these poor souls shall live in joy or woe 

While nations rise and fall and kalpas pass. 

And this proud city crumbles to decay 

Till antiquarians search its site in vain, 

And beasts shall burrow where this palace stands. 

Not for the pleasures of a passing- day. 

Like shadows flitting- ere you point their place, 

Not for the transient g-lories of a king-. 

Now clothed in scarlet but to-morrow dust, 

Can I forget those loving-, living- souls, 

Groping- in darkness, vainly asking- help." 

And then he showed the noble eig-htfold path 

From life's low levels to Nirvana's heig-hts, 

While king- and people on the master g-azed. 

Whose face, beaming- with pure, unselfish love, 

Transfig-ured seemed ; and many noble youth, 

And chief Ananda, the Beloved called. 

Forsook their g-ay companions and the round 

Of youthful sports, and joined the master's band. 

And as he spoke, crores more than mortals saw 

Gathered to hear, and King- Suddhodana 

And sweet Yasodhara entered the path. 









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